Everyday Destiny
by Searchingforangels
Summary: Great destinies swing on small hinges. Pre- and post-reveal drabble collection; mostly gen, no slash.
1. Discoveries

**Discoveries**

Geoffrey blew on the wet pages before carefully setting his quill on the parchment strewn desk. He stood with a sigh and a dull twisting in his stomach that barely registered after twenty-six years of danger; you could instill fear in others, but after so long, resilience began to take hold.

Some called it bravery. He called it weariness.

No one was likely to enter the library for some time - Merlin was here, but he had disappeared into the recesses of the shelves hours ago and was unlikely to reappear any time soon. The lords were preoccupied with the grand tournament, as were the king and his son. No one would miss his presence.

He walked slowly to the unremarkable bookcase and stood on the stack of books prepared for just such a purpose. He touched the trigger book, the small spark of magic at his fingertips barely enough to open the door, and stepped into the hidden alcove of magical study and lore. The enchantment was important; it meant that no one without magic or knowledge of the place would easily discover the last haven of magic within the castle walls.

He froze.

So did Merlin.

They remained frozen for some time, Geoffrey at the entrance and Merlin with a spellbook on his lap. Neither was willing to breathe, let alone move.

At last, Geoffrey broke the silence. "I should have expected as much from Gaius' student," he said softly. Merlin shrugged awkwardly.

"You won't . . ."

"No."

"Me neither," Merlin finished. Geoffrey stepped forward, letting the door swing shut behind him.

"What are you reading?" he asked; Merlin wordlessly held up an ancient, druidic book of prophecy.

"Why are you reading _that_?" Geoffrey said, stunned and apprehensive at the particular set of prophecies Merlin had chosen. Merlin flinched, looking unusually pale.

"Curious," Merlin mumbled.

"Did you find what you were seeking?" Geoffrey inquired. Merlin laughed shakily.

"Too much." He surged to his feet. "Arthur will be waiting. I - I have to go," he stammered, slipping past Geoffrey and quickly disappearing. Geoffrey, his breathing only now returning to something manageable, carefully picked up the discarded book. It was written in the magical tongue, but despite his tenuous grasp of the language, the words were familiar enough; anyone with the slightest knowledge of the druids knew the significance of this tome. _Emrys norðêast sb wægn forðrihte mid uferra dryhten._

Emrys and the Once and Future King.

Geoffrey stood there for several minutes, lost in thought and swirling lore, before gently placing the book back on the precarious stack of books Merlin had assembled. A quick glance at the rest of the titles confirmed his suspicions - the books were nearly the complete set of the Albion Cycle.

Prophecy was rarely what it first seemed, although he suspected Merlin knew that only too well.

He walked slowly back to his desk and reopened the half-finished _History of the Kings of Briton_. He picked up his quill and began a new heading, carefully inscribing the words. _Emrys and the Once and Future King._

 _Druidic lore speaks one named Emrys, wreathed in mystery and secrets. His names are many, but all speak of him as one who guides a figure known only as the Once and Future King to the unification and rising of Albion . . ._

* * *

 **Welcome to this collection of Merlin drabbles! These drabbles are not exactly a hundred words; rather, they are approximately 100 - 500 word snippets that take place in canon up to the end of season four, then diverge with a magical revelation soon afterwards.**

 **This is not the original chapter one. Rather, I am coming back about 120 drabbles in to update the first chapter, as I feel my writing style has improved over the almost two years I've been writing these drabbles. Over the course of the series, the tone shifts from purely "everyday" moments to a more introspective look at the series as a whole, so if the first few drabbles don't catch your interest, feel free to skip to later chapters. The magical reveal for this series consists of chapters 100-111, if you're interested in reading them as a basis for post-reveal chapters, although all post-reveal chapters can be read without them.**

 **As a final note, "The Albion Cycle" is a name I borrowed from the brillant canon-divergent series of the same name by AntaresTheEighthPleiade.**


	2. Old

**Old**

Merlin never knew his grandfather, and he had only known his father for a few precious hours. He never had much contact with Ealdor's village elders. The only old men Merlin really knew well were Uther, Gaius, and a few angry old sorcerers. Which led to a rather odd understanding of what old men were really like.

Really, Merlin reflected, given what he had to work with, Dragoon was surprisingly _normal_.

* * *

 **Thank you everyone for the incredible response to my first drabble! I'm a bit blown away by how many follows and favorites I got in just a few days. Again, thank you!**

 **I don't own Merlin (if I did, we'd have a sixth season, and probably a seventh and eighth season, too). This disclaimer will cover the rest of the drabbles I write; if my ownership of Merlin changes sometime in the future, I'll be sure to let you know.**


	3. Injury

**Injury**

"I. Am. Going. To. Kill. You."

Merlin laughed weakly, carefully propping himself up on one elbow. "Never knew you cared so much," he said lightly.

Arthur dropped the facade of detached disapproval in favor of _much_ more satisfying yelling. "I told you not to go off on your own! Do you listen? No. And look where it got you!" He gestured to the bandages tightly wrapped around Merlin's torso.

Merlin cracked a smile. "So now you'll kill me because I survived this? It must be really hard for you to say you're worried."

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Merlin?"

"Yes?"

"Shut up."

"Shutting up, Sire."


	4. Fire

**Fire**

Magic was sublime goodness, beautiful strength, healing and relief beyond compare. Merlin knew that.

Magic was nightmarishly horrific, unshakable evil, a terror beyond what even Uther could dream of. Merlin knew that.

Magic was like fire. It could quickly become a terrible, cruel force of death that haunted your darkest dreams ( _the pyre was lit, and the flames rose high_ ), yet -

Merlin breathed the word ( _no longer necessary, but comforting in its familiarity_ ). Forbearnan. Gossamer strands of fire laced through his fingers, warm and vibrant and new, tracing delicate designs in his hands. Life, warmth, protection, beauty.

Life and death. Death and life. Fire, Merlin thought, was its own type of magic.


	5. Frog

**Frog**

The Druids had many prophecies, many stories about the great Emrys who would rise up and restore true magic to the land of Albion he had built. They had stories about his courage, his power, his immortality.

One man, though, had a fonder, gentler memory of The Emrys, one he treasured and kept close on bitter nights. He had been traveling through a small village on the outskirts of Cenred's kingdom when a raven-haired child noticed him and half-ran, half-stumbled to greet the new stranger.

He momentarily discounted the child, but a chill ran down his back and the piercing gaze of Emrys were suddenly upon him. He turned around slowly.

The Emrys beamed, a lopsided, brilliant smile that could light up a room, and deposited something in his hands. It wiggled.

"Frog," the young boy said happily.

An anxious-looking women called for the boy. After a last, curious glance in his direction, The Emrys cheerfully collected his frog and ambled towards the woman.

For, as the Druid realized that day, The Emrys was many things. He was a leader - a King. He was immortal. He was Magic.

But he was also a boy, a child who stumbled and smiled in the same heartbeat. And, in a startling moment of realization, he realized that The Emrys was far more human than anyone had ever expected.


	6. Improvisation

**Improvisation**

A sword prodded his back, and Merlin smiled internally. He turned to find Arthur (why did it have to be Arthur?) staring him down. "Your name?" Arthur asked coldly.

. . . Bother. He hadn't thought this far out.

Worse, the _only_ thing he could think of was Kilgarrah, no matter how much he tried. "I am . . ." he stalled.

". . . Dragoon! The Great!"

Merlin smacked himself internally. _Really?_ he complained silently as he was led away. _All the names in the world, and all you can come up with is_ The Great Dragoon _?_

* * *

 **Edit: "Improvisation" is now spelled correctly - thank you to thegirlwiththerainboweyes and Cat Girl 1995 for the help!**


	7. Modest

**Modest**

"You're kidding, mate."

Merlin half-shrugged. "It just sort of happened," he mumbled.

Gwaine rolled his eyes. "Let me get this straight. You became Arthur's manservant because you _stopped time_ in front of the King and his entire court. And it 'just happened.'"

Merlin flushed, still unused to people knowing about his magic. "I didn't stop time, I just slowed it down a bit."

Gwaine laughed, a touch incredulously and entirely fondly, absently wondering how he had gotten used to such bizarre statements in less than a week. He slung his arm around Merlin's wiry shoulders. "Only you, Merlin. Only you."


	8. Spring

**Spring**

Merlin looked cheerfully out the window. "Spring's coming," he said happily.

Gaius glanced at the piles snow heaped outside. "It may be a bit early for that," he cautioned.

Merlin stood up and stretched. "Mmmm. It'll be here in a week or so. Want help with those herbs?"

Gaius passed Merlin a bowl of ground thyme. "Put this in the blue bottle besides you." He studied Merlin curiously as he worked. "How do you know spring is coming so soon?"

The young boy looked up at him, startled. "Can't you feel it?" he asked in confusion. "The . . . the . . ." He waved his hands around vaguely. "The earth is stirring, the wind speaks of Spring. Soon, the fields will have beautiful yellow flowers. Spring is just a breath away. Can't you feel it?" he repeated.

Gaius could only shake his head in wonder. "No, my boy, I cannot." He glanced at Merlin, wondering how Merlin knew the Camelot meadows bloomed yellow in the spring when he only set foot in Camelot last summer. Again, he wondered: who, exactly, _was_ Merlin?

* * *

 **I bet Merlin has a pretty strong affiliation with Nature. And so this drabble was born.**


	9. Conflicted

**Conflicted**

Morgana was a traitor. A witch. An enemy.

. . . Arthur wished it were that simple. Morgana was other things, as well. A confidant. A companion. A sister. The irony was bitter - she was a sister in more ways that Arthur had ever imagined - but the truth held firm.

It was a constant pulse, a heartbeat. Traitor. _Friend_. Usurper. _Protector_. Witch. _Sister_. In and out. Forward and backwards. Sideways and through, weaving into every part of him and pulling him in too many directions at once.

(But no matter what Morgana did, he would be forever grateful to her for teaching him to stand up to his father).


	10. Statues

**Statues**

". . . and this stairway leads to the Physician's chambers," their guide told the new knights.

Gwaine's gaze wandered to a nearby staircase. "Why's there only one dog statue?" he asked.

Elyan jabbed him with an elbow. "Gwaine," he hissed, " _focus_."

The courtier nodded acknowledgement to Gwaine. "Your friend is correct. You can see where there used to be a pair of statues, but the other went missing a few years back. No one knows what happened to it." He paused, then smiled. "If you ask Merlin, he gets a very strange look on his face. But he's never told."

* * *

 **I don't think Merlin ever _un_ enchanted that dog in 1x02 . . .**


	11. Mornings

**Mornings**

Arthur awoke to the sound of a gentle but firm "Sire." He moaned, seriously considering the advantages of staying in bed.

"Sire," Not-Merlin said more insistently.

All Arthur wanted to do was bury his head under the pillows, because, although he'd never admit it, he had found the only way he woke up properly these days was with a sudden blast of sunlight to the face and a horribly cheerful "Rise and shine!" But he couldn't stay in bed, could he? There was no Merlin to drag him out of bed (often literally), just a model servant. A bootlicker, Merlin would call him. Groaning softly, he got out of bed and blearily listened to Not-Merlin tell him his schedule for the day.

He dismissed Not-Merlin as soon as he could, completely ignoring his morning council meeting in favor of finding where his idiot manservant had disappeared to _this_ time.

* * *

 **Thank you to everybody who had read, followed, favorited, and reviewed this!**

 **Thank you especially to my reviewers! I'm really bad at answering reviews, but tell you what: to everyone who has reviewed or does review in the next week, send me a one-word prompt, and I'll write a drabble on it. Just keep it non-slashy and within a "T" rating.**

 **Again, thank you all! It really means a lot to me!**


	12. Hamartia

**Hamartia**

 _Prompts! Lexi1220's first, since I thought of a (long) drabble for that word first. Thanks for the amazing prompt!_

 _Hamartia - A fatal flaw leading to the downfall of a tragic hero or heroine_

He was renowned, if not for his mercy, then for his justice. Under his rule, he drove away the horrific threats that plagued his kingdom. He stood with the most powerful Dragonlord and sorcerer of their day, and his wife was expecting a child, at long last. Nothing could stand in their way.

Until something did. He lost Ygraine, and he fell from grace.

He was renowned, if not for his justice, then for his strength. Under his rule, sorcerers burned and magic fled, but the land survived and so did the people. His ruthlessness was still touched with compassion and concern, so long as magic stayed out of the picture. Unfortunately, it rarely did. Magic battered at his defenses day and night. The final blow came when his sweet, fiery girl embraced magic and claimed the throne of Camelot as her own.

He lost Morgana, and he fell from sanity.

He was a broken man, but the determination to protect what was left of his family still drove him, beyond the reaches of mercy and sanity and perhaps life itself. And now Arthur was before him, and he was being attacked, and _he would not lose Arthur as well_.

He saved Arthur, but he could not save himself. He fell from life.

And somehow, it was enough.

* * *

 **Yes, I know what you may be thinking. Uther as a tragic hero? Well, perhaps not. I always saw him as more of a fallen hero (Merlin has all claims to the title 'tragic hero', but his destiny isn't nearly as tragic in my AU's, and I try to keep all drabbles within the same universe). 5x03 really did Uther no justice; he was a far more complex character than someone simply consumed by hate. In a way, he was consumed by broken love.**


	13. Stocks

**Stocks**

Gwen curiously walked up to the boy who didn't seem to mind the people throwing all manner of rotten food at him. He even went so far as to laugh - not a condescending, bitter laugh, but a laugh of wry humor and genuine amusement.

The boy who had defied the prince. The boy who took public humiliation in stride, who laughed when others would have been disgraced. Who was this boy?

"I'm in disguise," he confided, laughter still lingering in his eyes.

When the boy, moving quicker than should have been possible, saved the Prince's life while everyone else was still frozen in shock, her mind flashed back to his joking words. _I'm in disguise_. And perhaps, she thought, he had been telling the truth.

* * *

 **I feel like this might have actually happened. Still working on prompts!**


	14. Drunk

**Drunk**

 _Prompt from thegirlwiththerainboweyes_

Merlin opened the door. He ducked out of reflex, and sure enough, a large unidentified object smashed directly overhead. He wove through the tightly packed men - a skill perfected in the Camelot kitchens - and headed for the bartender. The bartender raised an eyebrow at Merlin. "Looking for him again?" he asked. Merlin nodded. "Back of the room," the bartender grunted, turning back to his customers.

Merlin approached Gwaine. "Come on, Gwaine. Time to go."

Gwaine sighed. Merlin grinned and pulled him to his feet. "Lovely seeing you all again," Merlin told the rest of the table with a smile. They all laughed, and Merlin glanced at the assortment on the table. "I do need the sword back. He'll want it tomorrow."

"But -" someone said. Unwisely.

The steely glint in Merlin's eye convinced him otherwise. Merlin dragged Gwaine out into the cold night air. "Sorry, Merlin," Gwaine apologized with a perfectly sober smile. "I owe you one."

"Yes, yes you do," Merlin grumbled. "Do me a favor and beat Arthur in practice tomorrow. He's being a real prat."

Gwaine's smile was fierce. "I look forward to it."

* * *

 **It's kind of fun writing without full context. It leaves something to the imagination.**

 **It's been a while since an update. Sorry about that. I plan to post another drabble prompt tomorrow. Hope you enjoyed!**


	15. Fireflies

**Fireflies**

 **Go turn on Freya's theme, then read this. A wonderful prompt from Linorien.**

* * *

They sat side by side, waist deep in the still water. It was Samhain, and the veil between the two worlds was at its thinnest. Some may have found the situation frightening.

The two figures in the water, one bound eternally to death, and the other bound eternally to life, found it comforting.

There had been tears and tight, desperate hugs and hurried warnings. There had been urgent messages and gentle reassurances and overwhelming relief, tinged with sadness.

Now, though, there was only a magical, surreal moment of peace. The fireflies flickered in the dusky evening light, and the Sidhe, moving too quickly for any mortal eye to see, traced beautiful, shimmering patterns between the fireflies, in the space between air and water, earth and sky, life and death. The two immortals watched them in quiet wonder.

The magic of the world stilled at the tender care of the two on the lake's edge. Freya leaned into Merlin, who wrapped a gentle arm around her wet shoulders.

And for one brief, shining moment, the world was at peace.

* * *

 **I'm usually not into romance, but the image of Freya and Merlin at the lake's edge watching fireflies kept coming back to me. The two have such a beautiful relationship - no betrayal or bitterness or selfishness, just tender acceptance and selfless care. I hate that she had to die, but I honestly think their relationship gains an enormous amount of depth in her death.**


	16. Root

**Root**

 _Another prompt! This one's from lexi1220._

* * *

It all started with a tree root.

As far as Merlin could tell, that made it all the tree root's fault.

They had been finishing a surprisingly close race - Will was the more athletic of the two, but Merlin knew the forest unnervingly well, and lost Will in the tangled underbrush and twisting paths. The last part of the race ran along the edge of long, rocky drop near the tunnels and caves. They had explored here many, many times. It should have been all right.

Except it wasn't.

Merlin's triumphant shout of victory died in his throat as he watched Will stumble across a large tree root, half-covered in autumn leaves. Will swayed for a moment, then fell into the empty air.

It seemed to happen in slow motion. Merlin raced to the edge of the drop, searching for Will. That's when he realized it _had_ happened in slow motion. Will was only a few feet away from the top of the ledge, eyes wide and panicked and confused.

Merlin bit his lip and hurriedly pulled Will to safety. Will lay panting on the ground, shaken and scared.

To Will's everlasting credit, he was not scared of Merlin.

But there were still pressing questions to be answered. "What," Will gasped, "was that?"

* * *

 **Will. It's so easy to forget his one-episode appearance, but he's Merlin's childhood friend.**

 **I thought about an Arthur reveal, but I want to keep these drabbles/oneshots more everyday/between episodes themed.**


	17. Petrichor

**Petrichor**

 _Petrichor - the scent of dust after rain_

 _Prompt from hollyhobbit101._

* * *

Morgana hated living in a hovel. It was utterly degrading that she, rightful heir of Camelot and High Priestess of the Old Religion, should be forced to live in a tiny hut in the middle of the woods.

At least, that's what she told herself, and most of the time, she believed it.

Right now, though, the sun was just emerging from the clouds after a rainstorm, and a late summer's breeze carried the smell of the outdoors into her house. It was at once both fresh and cool, clean and wild and inviting. She carefully stepped outside, and the scent of newness, of the untamed, gentle beauty of nature overwhelmed her. For a moment, she forgot her desperation, her hatred and her fear.

She just _was._ She was one with nature, one with the world, one with herself.

It was only for a moment. After that, she bitterly remembered why she shouldn't enjoy living quite this close to nature, and she marched back inside, slamming the flimsy wooden door behind her.

But she left the windows open.


	18. Nervous

**Nervous**

 _A prompt by alicenotinwonderland_

* * *

"Can't you do anything right?" Arthur snapped, and Merlin flinched. He had tried, he really had, but he had never seen armor from closer than ten feet before last week, and now he was expected to dress an irritable and demanding Prince in it. _If it wasn't for that dragon-_ he half-snarled in his head, and ruefully wondered why his destiny couldn't have been something easier, like being eaten alive by a dragon.

Well, he _was_ being eaten alive by a dragon, after a manner of speaking. A Pendragon, to be precise.

Arthur noticed his new manservant's jumpiness and sighed grudgingly. "Look," he said with forced calm. "This piece goes on first, and then you put that - no, the other one - careful! Then that piece goes on top, and _I'll_ take care of my sword until you figure out how to handle it without stabbing someone."

It was still nerve wracking, but Merlin saw a flicker of - well he wasn't sure what it was, but it wasn't pure arrogance, and it was a start. He took a deep breath and carefully handed Arthur his sword.

Arthur looked almost pleased.

* * *

 **Anyone else wondering where country boy Merlin figured out how to do the half a million things a Prince's manservant is expected to do?**


	19. Protector

**Protector**

 _Prompt by p3rfectlyn0rmalx. Sorry this took so long!_

* * *

"What are you doing here?" Arthur snapped.

"I'm here," Merlin said, suddenly tired of all the lies, "to protect you. Like I always do."

Arthur laughed harshly. " _You_? Go back to Camelot, Merlin. This is too dangerous a mission for the likes of you."

Merlin clung to the underlying protection in Arthur's harsh words and doggedly followed his Prince, wishing that maybe, just once, Arthur would believe him when he told the truth.


	20. Hinges

**Hinges**

Great destinies turn on small hinges. The destiny of the Once and Future King was no different.

Jerome, usually mild-mannered, was at the end of his rope. "I quit! Throwing food at me, I can handle. Throwing cups at me, I can handle. Throwing knives at me - I'm done. I quit."

The head of servants listened patiently until Jerome was through, then spoke. "You might want to give him another chance. He's nearly accustomed to you, now."

"No," Jerome snapped. "You'll have to inform the King that his son needs another punching block - excuse me, _manservant_. I'm leaving."

Later that night, a boy saved the Prince from a knife, this time thrown not in jest, but with deadly intent. The King's eyes lingered thoughtfully on the boy. After all, Arthur did need another manservant.


	21. Time

**Time**

 _Prompt by Beth Nottingham_

"You can't blame him for that," the sorceress murmured sympathetically as Merlin made a hurried entrance.

Arthur blinked. "What?"

"Being late. Losing track of time. His sense of time in general."

"What are you talking about?" Arthur asked in confused exasperation.

"Merlin. Emrys. He's an immortal - he was born that way. His mind is equipped to think in terms of thousands of years, although he does not fully understand it yet. Don't blame him for losing track of a few minutes."

Arthur looked at his friend, and saw, like a fleeting shadow, the heavy weight of passing years that would never claim his friend.

". . . I hadn't realized," he murmured at last.

Her smile remained gentle. "Neither has he."

* * *

 **The idea of Merlin's immortality is going to be a revolving theme in these drabbles - not really a plot, but a recurring idea to explore. The show never touched that much on Merlin's status as both an immortal and a creature of the Old Religion, and also his humanity in light of that. I think it's a fascinatingly wide-open field, and I intend to explore it. I've already touched on it a little bit in _Frogs_ , _Spring_ , and _Fireflies_ , and I'll certainly be coming back to it.**


	22. Bells

**Bells**

Merlin awoke to the sound of bells ringing throughout the city. He did not move; he simply lay there, soaking in the sound.

For once, the bells did not herald imminent doom. They did not warn of terrible danger or midnight escapades or heart-stopping threats.

Today, the bells rang out in celebration of Arthur's wedding. Guinevere's wedding.

Merlin decided he rather liked the sound of bells.

* * *

 ***checks last updated time* Whoops. Lost track of time, sorry about that. Anyway, here's a happy drabble (look! It's actually drabble length!) to cheer you up.**


	23. Halfpenny

**Halfpenny**

 _Prompt by Requiem17_

"Penny for your thoughts, Merlin," Arthur said lightly. "Since, you know, that's all they're worth."

There was a slight ripple as the Knights glanced at each other.

"Ah," Gwaine said cheerfully, but with an undercurrent of warning, "then a halfpenny for your thoughts, Arthur."

The hidden hurt in Merlin's eyes changed into faint amusement, and Arthur silently accepted the reprimand with an awkward jerk of his head. Best of all, the weight in Merlin's eyes lifted, if only for a moment.

* * *

 **Time got away from me again, I'm afraid. Finals are coming up, and life is getting busy. I'll be posting two drabbles today, but I might disappear for a week or two.**

 **On a more Merlin-y note, I really love seeing how the Knights take care of Merlin - which sometimes means standing up to Arthur for him.**


	24. Heal

**Heal**

 _Prompt by hollyhobbit101_

Arthur lay on the ground, gasping. His face was turning blue, and he had long ago stopped thrashing. Now, he lay unnervingly still. Merlin's eyes were an agony of fear and indecision.

A young Knight touched Merlin lightly on the shoulder. "Let me," he said.

Merlin shook his head absently. "There's nothing you can do."

"Yes," the Knight said boldly, "there is. It is a mortal wound. He lies at the brink of death. There is only one thing that can be done."

Merlin's eyes snapped to the Knight. "It is not right," he said sharply.

The Knight bowed his head. "You proved to everyone years ago that magic was not inherently evil, but depended on its purpose. It can serve great good. So it is with this magic. I have sworn to protect my sovereign; if I were to fall in battle protecting him, it would be a good and honorable death. It is no less for me to protect him so now. Let me," he said simply.

Merlin studied the Knight before him for a long time before nodding slightly. "Your name?" he asked gently.

"Sir Galahad," he said, kneeling.

Merlin took a deep breath and summoned the Cup of Life. "You will be remembered," he murmured, "and honored for your sacrifice."

"Ah," Sir Galahad breathed, looking in wonder at the simple cup in Merlin's hand. "It seems as a holy grail to me." He bowed his head to his fallen King. "Long live the King," he whispered.

Then Merlin spoke the words, and Sir Galahad crumpled to the ground, lifeless. A few feet away, Arthur took a deep, shuddering breath.

* * *

 **This was fascinating to write; I just planned to have some faceless Knight, but I needed a name, and Galahad appeared. Then, I realized the parallels between the Cup of Life and the Holy Grail. In Arthurian legends, Sir Galahad is known as the noblest of Kin** **g Arthur's knights, and is the one destined to find the Holy Grail.**


	25. Sleep

**Sleep**

Arthur entered his room, idly taking off his cape and drawing breath to call for Merlin to help him out of his armor. That's when he saw him. Asleep on the floor, curled up into a ball rather smaller than Arthur would have liked to see.

The shout died on his lips, and Arthur stood, a little uncertainly, in front of his sleeping servant. Merlin - even asleep - had the uncanny knack of stripping away King Arthur until there was only Arthur left.

A King could not be unduly concerned over a servant.

But Arthur could be properly worried about a friend.

After a moment's thought, he laid his cape over Merlin like an overlarge blanket and quietly left the room.

He would take off his armor later. After all, there was always time for sparring.


	26. Test

**Test**

Anhora studied the young man before him, so fiercely protective. It had been quite the test for both the prince and Emrys, although it had only truly challenged the prince.

Emrys had known enough to not kill the unicorn in the first place; he had felt the stirrings of kinship all creatures of the Old Religion possessed, and knew better than to kill such a pure creature. The prince, however, did not know such things, and the unicorn fell.

And then came the tests, and Anhora was as much testing Emrys as he was the prince, although the testing was much less obvious. Emrys, of course, passed all three of Arthur's tests so easily that they were not tests at all, merely obstacles to reach his prince.

Anhora had seen Emrys's tense posture when he posed as a thief for the first test; Emrys had been ready to intervene and stop his prince from seizing the man if Arthur had not come to the decision himself.

The next test had been much more subtle. Of course, Emrys never actually ran into the thief, but the fact that he put up with the rather arrogant prince on a daily basis told Anhora enough to know that the thief's mockery would hardly affect him. No, Emrys's second test had been one of constraint. He could have easily overpowered Anhora when he was captured; all it would have taken was a flicker of his immense power and he would have been free to search for his prince. However, he instead submitted to the test, patiently waiting for his prince to appear. In Emrys's great destiny, he would need all the strength and patience of heart he possessed to keep his heart pure. It would be no easy trial, and it was comforting to see the ease at which Emrys passed this particular test.

The last test was, in truth, the most fascinating. There was no hesitation on either's part to sacrifice themself for the other. It was a sacrifice born of duty, yet driven by the undeniable friendship they had - even if both were too stubborn to admit it. Yet still, their individual decision to drink the poison was unique and compelling. Arthur chose poison after a sense of duty; he would always put his people above himself. Beyond that, he was a fair, if not yet truly understanding king. He knew the curse was his fault, and he was determined to be the one to make amends. Emrys, on the other hand, was quite a different story. As soon as he understood the test, he immediately sought a way to protect his prince - Anhora didn't believe the though even crossed his mind to allow any other way.

He winced as Emrys turned around and the prince seized the goblets. That gullibility was going to exact a heavy toll if left unchecked.

In the end, they both proved themselves pure of heart. The prince proved himself arrogant but just and merciful, while Emrys proved himself entirely pure, yet alarmingly naive. What an interesting destiny you two share, he thought, reassuring the panicked Emrys that his prince was indeed well. He was content to wait for the rising of destiny; with Emrys at his side, the prince would never stray far from his pure heart for long.

* * *

 **All right. I'm officially ditching the idea of restraining drabbles and oneshots to only behind-the-scenes/everyday events, although they will certainly play a prominent role. What I'm really after here is writing about Merlin in a way that is more reflective than action-based, at least in this fanfiction. There's a lot of unexplored depth to Merlin, and stepping back into a reflective role allows me to explore these depths much more thoroughly than I might otherwise. So, if I begin to explore more canon-important events, know that's what's going on.**

 **For those of you who like the lighter, less plot-significant events, never fear! The vast majority of these will still run along "everyday" lines.**


	27. Cloak

**Cloak**

"What are you _doing_?" Merlin asked.

Lancelot jumped and came to a sheepish halt. "Nothing," he said, hoping Merlin would dismiss the strange incident without further question.

Merlin studied him for a minute. "It's the cloak, isn't it?"

Unfortunately, Merlin was far too perceptive for his own good. Merlin studied him for a moment, arms crossed. "You have to sweep in," he suggested at last. "You can't run, but you have to move faster than a walk if you want your cloak to billow out just right. And drop the swagger. It looks strange and tangles up your cloak." He laughed, then. "If you want a good example, watch Arthur. He has it down to an art."


	28. Oceans

**Oceans**

"Arthur Pendragon," the Druid said reflectively, "can pretend he doesn't care, but if Emrys is taken from his side, he will move oceans to get him back." He paused, and a sharp smile grew on his face. "Emrys is the same way towards Arthur Pendragon, except he tends to take the task of moving oceans much more literally."


	29. Masquerade

**Masquerade**

Sometimes, it bothered Arthur, although he tried not to let it show. Merlin could be so mysterious sometimes, so knowing and assured and, well . . . wise, yet he could trip over his own feet and forget the simplest of tasks the next day. Arthur had watched him closely, and had come to a troubling conclusion: neither Merlin was an act. Both spontaneously occurred, and not even Merlin seemed aware of it most of the time.

He confronted Merlin about it one day, asking if he was a fool masquerading as a wise man or a wise man masquerading as a fool.

He expected Merlin to laugh, to dodge the real question as he so often did. _Well, Arthur, are you a prat who's King or a King who's a prat?_ Merlin's answer surprised him.

"I really don't know," he said softly. "Most days, I think - well, if you ever find out, let me know."


	30. Horse

**Horse**

"I'm not a _horse_ , Merlin," Kilgharrah said with considerable irritation.

"I know, I know," Merlin said impatiently. "You're one of the last of the ancient and noble creatures of the Old Religion -" and Kilgharrah absently wondered when he should tell the boy that he, too, was a creature of the Old Religion, and quite a powerful one at that "-and can destroy towns with your breath, and are basically not a horse at all, so can I get on now?"

Any other Dragonlord would have either respected Kilgharrah's unspoken hesitation or commanded him to carry them anyways. Not Merlin.

Merlin simply waited, both hurried and patient with an amused tilt to his head, and Kilgharrah smiled inwardly. "Your wish is my command," he said, and he knew that Merlin heard all the unspoken words. They were not bound only as dragon and dragonlord, but as creature of magic, as kin on a level that most humans (all but Merlin) could not begin to understand. Words were not always necessary.

Which was fortunate, as Merlin truly was in a hurry. The boy scrambled onto his back, and Kilgharrah took flight, the wind from their passage stirring the treetops.

He pointedly ignored Merlin's playful kick to his side, as if Merlin were spurring a horse on, although he did drop into a steep, breathtaking dive a few seconds later. Merlin's laughter pierced the soundless night, and Kilgharrah smiled.

It was good to be needed, and even better to spend time with his kin.


	31. Irony

**Irony**

"Tell us," Gwaine drawled. "What's the strangest thing Arthur's ever told you?"

Merlin snorted. "There's been lots."

Elyan leaned forward. "Tell us one, then."

Merlin thought for a moment, then laughed wryly. "Back when - well, back when Arthur was more of a prat, he told me I had no idea what it was like to have a destiny."

There was a silence. "You serious, mate?" Gwaine asked faintly.

"Yup."


	32. Conspiricy

**Conspiracy**

* * *

 _Warning:_ _kind-of-sort-of-crack_

* * *

"Have you heard what they're saying now?" Arthur asked.

"You're going to have to be more specific," Merlin said absently. His eyes faded from gold to blue, and he turned to face Arthur. "I've heard lots."

"What spell was that?" Arthur asked, momentarily sidetracked.

Merlin shrugged. "A new scrying spell. What are they saying now?

"That I'm really an illigetimate child like Morgana, but since I got your sword out of that stone, I proved myself as the true King of Britain," Arthur recited with amused exasperation.

"Britain?" Merlin asked. "I haven't heard that before."

Arthur shrugged. "Before the Purge, people sometimes called Albion Briton. I haven't heard the word in years, to be honest, but this conspiracy movement is digging up every obscure reference they can find."

Ever since Arthur legalized magic, a growing number of people were coming to see every possible event as a conspiracy to hide the true facts. The stories were becoming more and more ridiculous every day.

"Well," Merlin said, trying and failing to suppress a smile, "it's not as bad as some. Did you know they think I'm actually Dragoon, and I've just been hiding my age with magic the whole time? Apparently, I have a magical staff of destruction that never leaves my hand, and I go on spouting off wise gibberish all the time."

" _Well_ -" Arthur said, instantly cheered.

"Oh, not you, too," Merlin grumbled. "Look, all this will blow over in a few months."

"I hope so," Arthur said fervently. He laughed. "Have you heard the rumor that you -"

Merlin glared at him. " _One more word_ and you will find yourself stuck in deep quicksand. Sire."

Arthur opened his mouth to protest, but he wisely decided to stay silent.


	33. Countdown

**Countdown**

Gwen paused as Merlin quickly entered the hallway, carefully closing the Prince's door behind him. He grinned as he saw her.

"Five," he whispered, "four, three-"

"What did you do?" she whispered back, stifling a giggle.

He only smiled merrily. "-two, one-"

" _MERLIN_!"

"And that's my cue to run," he said happily, catching her hand and bolting down the hallway. She struggled to keep up, laughing the whole way.


	34. Bets

**Bets**

Sir Gareth looked up to see the Prince's manservant come stumbling in, late as usual. His partner, Sir Kai, smiled as he saw Merlin. "Wonder where he's been," he said quietly.

"I bet you five coins it'll be even worse than last week's," Gareth murmured.

Sir Kai laughed wryly. "Done. Nothing can top last week."

Arthur finally noticed Merlin. "And where have you been?" he demanded.

They all listened to Merlin's stumbling, rambling explanation of an exploding pies and toppling bookshelves and something about woodworm, whatever that was.

Sir Gareth looked smugly at Sir Kai, who sighed. "I owe you five coins," he admitted.

* * *

 **I generally try to avoid OC's, but *shrugs* oh well. Sir Kai and Sir Gareth were part of the Round Table in Arthurian legends, so I suppose they aren't entirely new characters.**


	35. Authority

**Authority**

" _Mer_ lin has no respect for authority," Arthur grumbled.

"Yes," Percival said simply. Arthur sat up and took notice, because when Sir Percival spoke, you listened.

"I'm sure the whole of Camelot knows by now," he said, curious to see if he could draw Percival into a conversation.

"It's not only Camelot," Percival said mildly, and Arthur frowned in confusion.

"The Druids, Arthur," Percival said patiently. "You forget that Merlin is a King."

Actually, he _had_ forgotten - Merlin had been quite happy to gloss over that particular detail. He sighed, baffled yet again by his friend's wild inconsistencies (untrained, powerful, foolish, wise, servant, _Emrys_ ) "Why?" he asked Percival plaintively, and somehow, Percival understood.

A ghost of a smile appeared on Percival's face. "Because," he said, "he doesn't respect authority - including his own."


	36. Traitor

**Traitor**

Gaius had been called a lier, a misfit, a coward, a traitor, for staying at Uther's side as the Great Purge raged on.

He had been called worse.

So when Merlin stumbled in, Gaius knew exactly what the look on his face meant. He gathered Merlin up in his arms, gently rocking back and forth. "Oh, my boy," he murmured gently. "Who is it this time?"

Merlin tensed, then sighed. "A druid. Again." He curled in on himself a bit more, and Gaius smoothed Merlin's hair, holding Merlin tight. There really were no words of comfort that could be offered, but the comfort of presence, of safety, of acceptance, was usually enough.

He hoped it would be enough tonight.


	37. Fight

**Fight**

Percival eyed his opponent warily. Merlin would never let any true harm come to him, but he knew that Merlin could and would defeat him in a heartbeat.

Or perhaps not.

Percival's sword nearly dragged itself from his hands as it quickly disarmed Merlin. "Oh look, you beat me," Merlin said innocently, the gold fading from his eyes. He cheerfully walked off the field. "That will teach Arthur not to drag me into these stupid tournaments," he grumbled under his breath.


	38. Ramble

**Ramble**

Arthur sighed, passing the scribbled note to Guinevere. "He even rambles when he writes," he complained. "Even when he's in so much of a hurry that he doesn't even have time to come tell me in person, he still rambles."

Gwen laughed quietly. "That's Merlin for you." She kissed him on the cheek. "Don't worry. He'll be back soon, and then we can hear his rambling account of what happened and drag what actually happened out of him."

She walked to the door, her dress sweeping elegantly behind her. "For now, we should tell the court what's happening."

"What little we know of it," Arthur said dryly, following her out. "I'm sure Merlin can ramble his way through an explanation later."

Gwen smiled knowingly. "Better yet, we can ask Gaius what's really going on."


	39. Opposites

**Opposites**

They were everything the other wasn't.

She was the King's Ward - nearly a princess, and briefly the Queen. He was a foreign villager, a country boy.

(Although both wished they knew of their father earlier.)

She wielded power with extravagant flourishes, with cloak-and-dagger subterfuge, while he used his power as unobtrusively as the situation allowed, with no cloak, much less a dagger, to his name.

(Although both, at times, wished they never had magic and could be normal.)

She was eloquent passion and fiery defiance, while he was awkward explanations and stumbling excuses.

(Although no one suspected either, when they probably should have.)

She awoke and embraced the monster that slept in both of them.

(Although at times, she wished she could reign in the monster, while at times, he ached to unleash it.)

She was rage. She was sadistic revenge and carefully laid plans. He was humility. He was hurried defense and purely instinctive magic. She was victorious despair; he was weary hope. She lashed out; he held back.

He was, more often than not, the light to her darkness.

And he was, more often than he cared to admit, the darkness to her light.

* * *

 **Morgana and Merlin have some incredible parallels - two people so similar, yet so different.**

 **On an unrelated note, I'll have no internet for the next two weeks or so.**


	40. Speech

**Speech**

Guinevere bit her lip, turning to Arthur. "The banquet is tomorrow, and you haven't started your speech yet!"

Arthur shrugged. "Don't worry." He kissed her. "I'll be done with the paperwork in five minutes."

The next morning, Merlin came in with breakfast. "Ready for the banquet, Arthur?" he asked cheerfully.

Arthur nodded. "As ever," he said dryly. "Some days, it feels like my whole life is an ongoing social event. Let's see what you have this time."

Merlin tossed him a scroll. "The usual. Welcome everyone, Camelot stands strong, our treasuries are overflowing, our farms are bounteous, etcetera, etcetera."

Arthur scanned the scroll. "Looks good."

Gwen was scandalized. "Arthur!"

Merlin just laughed. "That's right, you don't know yet, do you? I've been writing most of Arthur's speeches ever since he became Regent."

Gwen looked between the two, quite at a loss for words.

* * *

 **I'm back!**


	41. Executions

**Executions**

On the whole, Arthur began his reign under the same laws his father had established. He knew some men would completely overthrow the old government and set up their own in his place. Arthur knew this to be foolishness. The country would be thrown into confusion and instability, and they would be immediately vulnerable to enemies who lay in wait for his first misstep. Furthermore, Arthur had seen the effectiveness of his father's laws perhaps better than any other; while he might not enjoy the harshness of the law, he knew it was often a necessity for law and order.

So on the whole, he changed very little when he assumed his father's throne. The things he would change - and there certainly were things he intended to change - would take place gradually. It truly was for the best. His father had taught him the value of patience, and he knew he would be putting this virtue to good use in the coming months.

However, there was one law he changed almost immediately - the ruling on how executions were to take place.

He accepted the need for executions. He didn't enjoy killing his own people - far from it - but sometimes, people were too dangerous to let live, and the rest of his country needed to see he had the strength to stand up to threats both internal and external. The pyres, however, sickened him. The senseless torture was completely unnecessary, and privately, Arthur wondered if the threat and cruelty of the pyre was part of the reason Morgana turned against them. Hanging or the executioners blade would suffice.

So he informed the council of the new change in policy, calmly overruling their protests. He listened to their reasons, defending his with logic and calm counter arguments. He patiently endured the outraged lectures he received from his new councilmen of how such things showed weakness, how they showed he was not his father's son.

And then, after all of it had finally settled, he declared - in a tone of voice that reminded everyone exactly whose son he was after all - that the pyre was no longer legal for executions, and anyone found using them would be tried for treason themselves.

The council finally adjourned, and everyone gratefully left the crowded hall. As Arthur passed Merlin, he saw a gleam of pride - and something else he couldn't quite place - in his servant's eyes.

"Good job," Merlin said quietly, solemnly.

His father would never have let a mere servant have such an influence on him. However, Arthur had just spent the last four hours proving he was more than just his father's son, so he allowed Merlin's warm glow of pride fill him until he felt nearly invincible.

And in that moment, perhaps he was.

* * *

 **Correct me if I'm wrong, but I don't think I ever saw a pyre under Arthur's reign, except for the time he _saved_ that women from the pyre in 5x03.**


	42. Loyalties

**Loyalties**

"You're too loyal," a voice said behind him, and Merlin whirled around.

"Your majesty," he said, hurriedly bowing. "What-"

"No man holds such loyalty without reason," Uther continued reflectively. "What is your reason for your loyalty to my son?"

Merlin swallowed. "I am his servant, I -"

"It's more than that," Uther said. "Your job is to mind his schedule and his needs. Instead, it appears you are dangerously close to what I would name friendship."

Merlin closed his eyes for a brief second, fighting back unbidden panic. "I -" he started, and threw caution to the winds. He straightened. "Your son is the best man I know, and he will be the greatest king this land has ever seen. I will follow such a man to the ends of the earth."

Uther's eyes were penetrating. At last, he stepped forward. "You truly believe that," he said softly, and Merlin nodded, eyes firmly fixed on the stone floor.

"Remember your place," Uther said, a command. Merlin nodded again. "And for the love of all that is good," he said, so quietly Merlin wasn't sure he was supposed to hear, "let him be the man you see in him."


	43. Whistle

**Whistle**

Arthur couldn't take it anymore. He couldn't. He had tried to ignore it, but that was quickly proving to be impossible. " _Mer_ lin!"

Merlin looked up from polishing Arthur's armor. "Yes, Sire?"

Oh, that was it. Merlin never called him "Sire" unless he was extremely upset or entirely too innocent. This was obviously the latter.

"Would you stop that _whistling_?" Arthur nearly shouted.

Merlin's smile was brilliant and unrepentant. "Nope."


	44. Aim

**Aim**

The bandits attacked, and Arthur and Lancelot sprung into action while Merlin slipped away to the edges of the fight. Merlin glanced up at a large overhanging limb, mouthing the words.

CRAAAACCK!

Arthur crumpled under the heavy branch, unconscious. Merlin winced.

"You-" Lancelot shouted, swinging at a bandit, "-missed!"

"Oh, really?" Merlin muttted sarcastically. He glanced around the clearing, trying to remember any spell that could be useful. A few moments later, a sudden blast of power knocked everyone off their feet.

Lancelot quickly recovered, scrambling to kick weapons out of reach. Merlin joined him, and a few minutes later, all the bandits were either unconscious or fled. Lancelot surveyed the scene: the unconscious prince still was sprawled under the tree limb, while a handful of bandits began to stir. The clearing itself looked like it had been hit by a small earthquake.

"Merlin," Lancelot said with a faint, amused smile, "we really need to work on your aim."


	45. Change

**Change**

"He did _what_?"

The messenger cleared his throat nervously. "Revoked the ban on magic, your majesty," he repeated.

Queen Annis closed her eyes for a brief reprieve from the chaos that she could feel unfolding. She knew Arthur was a different man than his father - she approved, although Carleon had not - but to legalize magic? It was nearly unthinkable.

And yet . . .

When she saw Arthur Pendragon, she saw the dawning of a new age. Was this what she had seen? Was embracing magic the beginning of this age? She had certainly never hated magic like the other rulers, although she knew better than to voice that opinion to them. Arthur, so bold and young, had just broken one of the Five Kingdom's most important laws, and she had watched him enough to know he would never do such a dangerous thing without very, very good reason.

What was that reason?

She did not know what would happen next, but she could already feel the change rippling through their world, powerful and irrevocable. She prayed the change would be for the better.

* * *

 **I love watching Queen Annis - she's so wonderfully wise and complex.**

 **On an unrelated note, does anyone have any gen Merlin fanfiction recommendations on archiveofourown or livejoural?**


	46. Tomorrow

**Tomorrow**

Gaius listened in growing apprehension and awe as Merlin related his half of the story, the half where his boy traveled in a desperate panic to the Isle of the Blessed, only to find a victorious Nimueh and his mentor on the brink of death.

Gaius watched his boy stumble through the explanation. Such power was unheard of; not only had Merlin survived a direct hit from a High Priestess of the Old Religion, he had then went on to command the elements, wordlessly kill the High Priestess, and literally held the power of Life and Death in his hands. On instinct.

He opened his mouth to explain exactly how significant such deeds were, but the look on Merlin's face - open and quiet and a little scared - made him swallow the words. Tomorrow, they could talk of such things. But today, Merlin needed a hand to hold, not a discussion of his immense power.

(And tomorrow turned into the next day, which turned into the next day, which-)

* * *

 **Thank you all so much for the lovely fanfiction recommendations! I'm going to be busy reading all that for quite some time.**


	47. Clumsy

**Clumsy**

Merlin tripped on a stone and stumbled. He would have fallen on his face had a strong hand not grabbed his elbow just in time.

"Easy, there'" Elyan said, steadying the shaken warlock. He looked at Merlin, eyes puzzled. "For someone with your power to be so clumsy . . ."

Merlin half-shrugged. "I was born with it," he deadpanned.


	48. Discovery

**Discovery**

"This was found in the dungeons, Lord Merlin," a guard reported. Merlin carefully accepted the bracelet, flinching at the dark magic in the etched designs. Beside him, Gwen cried out in recognition and pain.

He whirled around. "What is it?"

She bit her lip. It was a long time before she answered. "Lancelot gave that to me," she admitted reluctantly. "When . . . before we . . ."

Merlin studied the spell on the bracelet. A possession charm, and an unusually strong one at that. "Let me guess," he murmured. "Once you put this on, you felt you could not help but love him."

Gwen nodded, shame and slowly dawning realization in her eyes. "Get Arthur," Merlin said tersely. "You both need to hear this."


	49. Sleeves

**Sleeves**

Percival bent over the chain mail shirt, methodically removing its sleeves by unhooking the chainmail links connecting the sleeves to the rest of his armor. Gwen had shown him how to remove the first few links, and then, after he understood what to do, he had sat down with peaceful, singleminded purpose to detach the rest of his sleeves.

"Does he take his sleeves off everything?" Gwaine asked quietly.

"Yes," Lancelot said, not bothering to sit up or open his eyes.

The convesation faded back into silence as Percival continued to carefully remove the links. The hubbub of the training yard was muted somewhat, distant, and the dusty peace of the old tool room prevailed. It wasn't, Gwaine decided, a bad way to spend an afternoon.


	50. Peace

**Peace**

For a moment, there was peace. Ygraine handed the newborn prince to Nimueh, and a shock ran through the Court Sorceress as she touched the tiny child; there was magic about him, powerful magic, the likes of which she had never before encountered. The air itself seemed to shimmer, a haze of golden power tenderly embracing the child in her arms. Her mind spun, on the verge of understanding, before falling, faster and farther until she wondered if the magic had been just her imagination, the aftereffects of the powerful magic used to bring about the infant's birth.

She reached desperately for the golden cloud, and again, she brushed up against what she almost understood. She reached, teetering on the edges of dark destinies and blinding knowledge. She almost understood, almost knew who the young child in her arms was, what the magic surrounding the young prince meant, but then -

Ygraine gasped in pain. "Uther-" she whispered, and something about her voice had Nimueh whirling around in blind terror, all thoughts of destinies and magic forgotten.

For a moment, there had been peace.

And then it was gone.

* * *

 **Merlin's not born yet, but in a very real sense, he currently exists as Magic. And oh! the bittersweet conditions of Arthur's birth! The start of the Once and Future King prophecy and the Purge, both within mere minutes of each other.**

 **This drabble, incidentally, sparked plans for what's shaping up to be a really long oneshot. Perhaps the Once and Future King prophecy spans more than just Arthur's reign; perhaps it is a huge prophecy, across multiple reincarnations, to shape the fate of Albion. This is going to take a while to write, but I'm really excited about it.**


	51. Relaxed

**Relaxed**

Arthur smiled as Merlin relaxed into the long, cool grass of the river bank. Every part of Merlin, physical, magical, and otherwise, seemed utterly at peace. It was a welcome change; the past few weeks had been difficult for everyone, and the strain was weighing on everyone, none more so than his closest friend.

He watched the last of the weight visibly leave Merlin as he closed his eye and let his magic fly loose. Arthur, well-acquainted with magic, felt the ripple of pure, unrefined magic sweep through the clearing. It danced on the faint breeze, twisting and turning until the air felt as crisp and fresh as mountain air in the fall. It rippled through the water, sweeping the riverbed and hovering on the currents of the river, and although Arthur couldn't see it, he knew magic twisted deep underground, melding with the roots and soil, weaving into the slow steadiness of the ground and anchoring the drifting sorcerer with the earth and her movement.

Merlin soaked it all in, and Arthur quietly watched his friend's wonder. Arthur knew that Camelot was where he belonged, where he came alight with understanding and belonging. Merlin belonged here, surrounded by the glory of nature and her seasons; while he would follow Arthur anywhere, he had seen Merlin come alive with the same inner light Arthur felt in Camelot whenever his friend set foot in the wild, untamed expanse of nature.

They stayed there for quite some time, Merlin quietly reaching out with his magic while Arthur stood silent guard over his friend. As the moon traced her silver path across the sky, Arthur let his eyes slip closed.

Nothing would harm them here tonight.

* * *

 **Someone requested a follow-up chapter to Spring (chapter 8), and while it takes a while, I promise I do get there. My sequels tend to follow more the ideas of previous chapters than the exact settings, hence the dramatically different time and place. Merlin always struck me as deeply connected to the world, and I love the idea that Arthur would understand that so well.**


	52. Mortal

**Mortal**

"You could have died!" Gaius shouted. "Merlin, you of all people cannot afford to take such risks!"

Merlin half-listened. Gaius was right - he needed to be more careful.

But.

His magic hummed through him, and he knew that it would take more than a simple beast to kill him.

Perhaps nothing could.


	53. Resemblance

**Resemblance**

It had been quite a busy few days. Camelot was hosting a royal delegation, and the servants had been nearly run off their feet. Arthur had been demanding and on edge, and to top it all off, Merlin had spent the last few nights helping Gaius with a magical sickness circulating the lower town. He hardly had time to sleep, let alone snatch a few minutes to clean himself up.

The consequence was one Merlin had never anticipated.

As he rushed through the crowded servants chambers, a older woman caught his arm and he skidded to a surprised halt. She studied his face intently, her face both inquisitive and gentle. "You look like him," she murmured. "Oh, how you look like him."

Merlin looked at her in confusion. "An . . . an old member of court," she elaborated. "Before the Purge. He was a good friend," she said, more to herself than anyone else. "A good man."

Later, Merlin studied himself in the mirror and realized, in a startling flash of clarity, that with his faint beginnings of a beard, he looked remarkably like his father.


	54. Language

**Language**

Sometimes, Merlin forgot what language he was supposed to speak.

It really wasn't his fault, Gaius explained wearily for the fourth time that month. Merlin's mind naturally turned towards the Old Tongue, and now that he was so engrossed in studying old spells and texts in the Old Tongue, his mind would tend to wander into that language more frequently.

Hunith laughed ruefully and told them several stories about a young Merlin, babbling away in a foreign language long before he learned the common tongue.

Merlin amused himself with sarcastic commentary on - well, nearly everything, when he was in the right mood - in the Old Tongue, taking great delight in the fact that none but Gaius and Geoffrey understood even half of what he was saying.

Sometimes, it was more serious. Sometimes, Merlin would burst in with an urgent message, realize halfway through that he had said it in the wrong language, and be forced to restart.

The upshot of it all was that Uther Pendragon was probably not just rolling, but quite nearly thrashing in his grave, Arthur thought, studiously reading what was apparently the equivalent of a primer text in the Old Tongue. His father would be beyond furious to find his son actively studying the language of magic, but at this point, Arthur had resigned himself to the fact that to understand Merlin, he would need at least a rudimentary grasp of the Old Tongue.

That was really about the extent of the odd phenomenon, except for the fact that Gwaine took to some of the stranger curses in the Old Tongue with gusto. It was disconcerting and mildly terrifying to hear the purely non-magical knight storm down a hallway, bellowing curses that had everyone half-turning in reflexive fear; Gwaine's voice was quite carrying when he put his mind to it, and the amiable rage in his voice put everyone in mind of a magical attack.

Merlin just laughed at everyone and went back to reading his book.

* * *

 **This is definitely one of my favorite drabbles I've written to date.**

 **Allow me to sidetrack. You should all go read the author Ocean Mint Leaves _Merlin_ fanfictions. Any and all of them. If you haven't read any of these before, you should know they contain some of the most beautifully realized golden age stories that have been written. Truly, truly incredible stuff.**


	55. Wake

**Wake**

"Merlin!"

Lancelot shook Merlin awake. "Your destiny calls," he said with a wry smile.

" _Mer_ lin!"

Merlin rubbed his eyes. "Quite piercingly," he agreed, fumbling for his jacket.

"MERLIN!"

"Coming!" Merlin called back, one arm through his jacket. He yawned again. "Thanks, Lancelot."

Lancelot watched Merlin work his other arm into the jacket as he skidded around the corner, taking the stairs a precarious three at a time. A few seconds later, the door slammed shut, and a faint " _There_ you are" could be heard from the hallway.

Lancelot smiled faintly at the retreating footsteps. "Anything to help a friend," he said, following Merlin out the door.


	56. Masks

**Masks**

The world had given them each masks, and each were expert at keeping the mask in place. One was given the mask of a commoner, an insolent servant who somehow managed to befriend an arrogant prince. The mask must be kept, must be maintained at all times else someone were to glimpse underneath it and see a far more tumultuous story, a tale of power and caution and reckless happiness.

The other wore the mask of a proud prince, a man confident holding the weight of the kingdom while continually maintaining a calm outward composure. The mask must never fall, must always be presented else someone tore past the composure to reveal the uncertainty and humanity and deep, soul-searching questions of the crown prince.

They were both very good, both experts in maintaining the necessary masks; indeed, it took a while for each to begin to see past the other's masks into the heart of their friend. (Friend was an unsteady word, cultivated primarily in the rare times when masks was not so rigorously maintained, and as such, went mostly unacknowledged).

Still, no mask can be kept forever, and in the privacy of a quiet moment, one might allow it to slip, just for a moment, to show the true soul underneath.

Merlin glanced up at his master, huffing at the ridiculous demands of the prince, and in the half-second between steps, their eyes met.

 _Hello, my friend_ , said the Once and Future King, and Emrys smiled.

 _My friend_ , he responded, and then Arthur was busy throwing a goblet - his aim was right on target, he was pleased to note, crashing into the wall less than a meter from his manservant as Merlin ducked hastily out of the way.

No mask was perfect; even Emrys and the Once and Future King were masks, forged out of necessity, yet the souls they contained were nothing short of extraordinary. Two souls, bonded in friendship, which started so humbly and ended in a destiny longer and deeper than the endless march of time. But that was later; for now, they performed their roles with impeccable grace, the one laughingly backing out of range while the other prepared yet another airborne missile for the hapless servant.

Destiny could wait; for now, the manservant leaned against the outside of the door, suppressing a smile, while on the other side, the prince allowed himself a genuine moment of laugher before beginning an afternoon of duties.

* * *

 **All right. Let's talk about 5x13.**

 **Ever since season 3, I had thoroughly spoiled myself for 5x13. I knew about Gwaine, about Arthur, about Balinor and the crystal cave, about Mordred and Morgana, about Guinevere, about Merlin waiting forever for Arthur. I avoided watching clips of the last episode, but I basically knew what was going to happen..**

 **But I watched 5x13 on Saturday for the first time. And - wow. Just wow. That was powerful stuff. I do have a bone to pick with everyone - what on earth made everyone assume Merlin turned into a depressed wreck for the next 2,000 years? Yes, it was absolutely devastating losing Arthur. However, Arthur lost his father despite his best efforts to save him, which I believe was also quite devastating for him, and still became an incredibly strong and compassionate king - magic aside, truly the King Arthur of legend. I believe it's the same for Merlin. Now completely in possession of his magic, he has such great potential to turn around and be a wise leader - perhaps for Camelot, perhaps not - but certainly later for the world at large. He already knows his part; work behind the scenes to help build goodness and avoid catastrophe. In this sense, he can truly become the Emrys everyone expects of him by the time Arthur returns, at which point they build Albion together.**

 ***coughs* Excuse the rant. I'm sure there's a fanfiction waiting to happen here, but it's still coming together. Do I wish Albion could have come together under Arthur? Absolutely. I'm writing this in a Golden Age AU, after all. However, I think Merlin's wait need not happen in the depressed stupor everyone seems to write about.**

 **(I think this author's note is longer than today's drabble. Sorry)**


	57. Position

**Position**

It was easier than Merlin had expected to adjust to his new position at court. Oh, the council was angry and the court was stunned. But the servants, who an experienced Merlin knew truly ran the castle, paid him hardly any more or less attention than they had before.

He finally worked up the courage to ask why. "Ah," the cook said with a gentle smile, "we've already done this before with Queen Guinevere. You're new to it, bless both your hearts. This makes you more to our eyes, not less, and fear is no way to treat old friends." Her eyes sharpened, and she hit Merlin over the head with a ladle. Hard.

"Ouch!" he yelped, and she smiled in satisfaction.

"However, if you steal _one more_ of my biscuits, I will test exactly how immortal people say you are, understand?"

"Yes, ma'am," Merlin said meekly, and she smiled again. All was right with the world.


	58. Disappearance

**Disappearance**

"He could be anywhere," Elyan said anxiously. "Those mercenaries have been trailing us since yesterday evening, and Merlin can't defend himself against a trained warrior, much less one paid to kill."

Lancelot bit back a laugh. "He'll be fine," he said soothingly. To his left, he saw a scrap of Merlin's neckerchief caught on a low hanging branch. Hurriedly, he turned his horse to the right. "Let's go this way," he called over his shoulder.

(They stumbled across Merlin a few hours later. Strangely, the mercenaries never made a reappearance.)


	59. Dawn

**Dawn**

Merlin loved the mornings, the thrill of the cool dawn air and the morning sun rising into view above the horizon. His magic tingled contentedly, settling into a content thrum of power that would echo through him for the rest of the day.

The balance of the world was shifting - night to day, sleep to awakening, cool to warm. Every day, every sunrise, it shifted again and again, over and over and over until it was ingrained in the very fabric of the world.

Frankly, the feeling of balance and change was the only thing that dragged Merlin out of bed some mornings. After he fetched Arthur's breakfast, he would throw open the curtains. "Rise and shine!" he would shout cheerfully, stubbornly ignoring the sleepy moan from the bed.

Ah, well. Perhaps Arthur would feel the mornings better another day.

* * *

 **All right, here's the situation; with everything going on right now, I won't have nearly as much time to write an** **d update this story. I still hope to update at least once a week, but things will be slowing down a bit.**

 **On a more story-based note, this drabble follows the same general ideas as _Spring_ and _Relaxed_. It's entering my list of "revolving ideas to write about," so you should be seeing more of these ideas sooner or later. I do like the idea that to an extent, Merlin doesn't really understand how other people don't feel the world around them as he does.**


	60. Live

**Live**

Gaius's hands shook as he administered the antidote to the fallen King. He would like to claim it as the effects of old age, but it was a flimsy excuse.

The Once and Future King and Emrys were two sides of the same coin, and no coin truly exists with only one side.

Merlin was immortal.

Arthur was not.

And in his heart, Gaius knew that without Arthur, there would be no Merlin. Not in Camelot. Emrys lived for the Once and Future King. Merlin . . . just lived.

Forever.

But without his King, he would not live in Camelot. Many people commanded his care, but only one person commanded his true loyalty, and when he died -

But Arthur would not die today, Gaius saw, watching as the king's breathing gradually steadied and deepened. Beside him, Merlin slowly relaxed, finally allowing the exhaustion of the day to take its toll. Gaius's hands stilled.

He found them there in the morning, Merlin asleep in the chair next to Arthur, and he thought that perhaps, Merlin knew ( _crystals and visions and prophecies caught unaware_ ) something of the future that awaited him.

But for now, all was well.


	61. Heritage

**Heritage**

More than one secret came to light the day that Merlin's magic was revealed. All the knights were in a spirit of secret-sharing (because nothing came as a surprise after Merlin being a warlock), and Gwaine was fairly certain he had only been this drunk two other times in his life.

It completely blindsided everyone - apparently, something could be still be surprising after all. Sir Elyan coughed up his ale. "Sorry, you're a _what_?"

Gwaine laughed rather drunkenly. _Oh, I'm going to regret this in the morning._


	62. Inspiration

**Inspiration**

 _A small collection of drabbles. I'm inspired reading everyone else's fanfiction, but these drabbles simply wouldn't exist without the stories (and quote) cited below that directly inspired them. All the stories I cite can be found on my profile under favorites._

* * *

 **Oblivious**

Sir Leon always died. And yet, he always pulled through. It was a series of coincidences that was quickly approaching a simple fact. Everyone accepted it; most barely noticed.

Merlin was often nearby when he "died" - and people do the strangest things in front of dead people.

Of course, Merlin had actually caught on to the fact that no matter the circumstance, Sir Leon was probably alive. Accordingly, the boy made a point of at least moving out of eyesight (and earshot) of Sir Leon before resuming his mantle as Protector of Camelot.

It was a secret Leon would take to his grave.

* * *

 ** _Inspired by BringOnTheWonder1997's excellent fanfiction_ The Undead Knight _._**

* * *

 **Important**

"Honestly," Arthur said in exasperation, "how do you remember everyone's _names_?"

It was a fair question; Merlin had just proceeded to talk to what seemed to Arthur to be half the people in the kingdom - blacksmiths, warriors, seamstresses, servants, nobility, and even a few travelers. He knew them all.

Merlin smiled, and today, his cheerful smile revealed the hidden wisdom that crept up on him from time to time. "Simple," he said. "I just remember everyone who's important."

* * *

 ** _Fairly obviously inspired by the Doctor Who quote, "900 years of time and space and I've never met anyone who wasn't important._**

* * *

 **Flight**

Hunith remembered Balinor - his gentle nobility, his kind eyes. She remembered other things, too. He was a Dragonlord. "Up in the sky," he had breathed, his face lit in a rare moment of wonder and peace, "flying above the trees and villages, you feel free. Nothing can hurt you up there. Everything is so new, so beautiful. I wish I could show it to you."

That had been almost a year ago. Now, she held her newborn son tight, a tear tracing its way down her face. Her son gasped, and his eyes flickered open. They were a brilliant gold.

Her breath caught. The newborn cried, and she held him close. "Oh, my son," she murmured. A bird - a merlin - flew past her window, dancing in the wind. She remembered Balinor's words. Flying. Freedom. Beauty.

"Oh," she breathed, and the world settled into place, settled around her newborn son that would change everything. She held him tighter, vowing to protect him, whatever the cost. "Oh, my _Merlin_."

* * *

 ** _Inspired by LFB72's fanfiction_ Drabble Collection _, chapter 19._**

* * *

 **Tree**

Merlin gently laid a hand on the late summer ground, and his magic eagerly leapt towards the small bundle under the earth. The magic flowed through him, and right now, it was not of swords and secrets and devastating betrayal, but of the wind and the rain and the life-giving earth.

He gently cupped his hand over the fragile sprout twisting upwards, its growth a mesmerizing motion resonating deep within him. The sprout branched and strengthened, deepening roots and lengthening branches.

It stiffened, wilted, newly-formed leaves fluttering to the ground, before blooming back into life. The cycle continued - life, then death, then life again, and always a renewal, a continued awakening, a growth.

Merlin lay back and watched the tree grow, lulled by the beauty and awe and settled peace of his magic. Time blurred and disappeared; when Merlin next stirred, spring blossoms slowly drifted down from an old, knotted tree arching high overhead.

Merlin close his eyes and _breathed_. It was difficult, sometimes, to remember that his magic was not only of death, but of life, not only of man, but of nature.

The tree swayed, the wind rustling gently in its leaves.

* * *

 ** _Absolutely, totally inspired by Aldryne21's fanfiction_ The Sound of Watercolors.**


	63. Futures

**Futures**

"Well," Uther said, humoring his betrothed, "tell me my future."

The man closed his eyes and whispered a few words. There was a barely perceptible hum, and the crystal in his hands glowed.

The seer's eyes flew open. "You will meet him," he breathed. "You will meet Emrys. But -" he broke off, staring into the crystal. "-but you will not recognize him, nor will you ever, for he is magic and you will forever lose sight of what magic truly is."

Uther frowned. "Do not speak in riddles," he commanded.

The seer slipped the crystal back into his satchel. "I speak what I see," he said coolly. "It is not my fault I see in riddles. Good day, your majesty."


	64. Potion

**Potion**

"Arthur?"

. . .

"Arthur, you need to drink this. Gaius says it will help."

Arthur just sat there, exhausted and unresponsive. Merlin sighed and tipped the entire bottle into the prince's mouth. Arthur swallowed reflexively, gagged heavily, and dragged himself into awareness.

"What -"

"Gaius's remedy," Merlin explained, holding up the empty bottle. "He said it would wake you up."

Arthur continued to gag. Merlin handed him a goblet of water, and Arthur drained it completely before setting it down on the table. "Is it really a remedy?" he asked, nauseated. "Or is it just the most vile potion he could find, because I swear, Merlin, the taste of that would wake the dead."

"Well . . ." Merlin trailed off. He had often wondered the same when Gaius had offered the potion to him after particularly sleepless nights. "But you're awake now," he pointed out.

Arthur glared.


	65. Shore

**Shore**

It had been a release, a weariness he had forgotten that was lifted in moments. The splintering sensation of his life tearing away had been fleeting and vague; now, he felt free for the first time in a long, long while. He stood at the shores of the lake, the timeless water lapping at his ankles. The lake was cloaked in deep, encompassing mist, and beyond, far distant lands called to his aching old soul. He took one step, then another, until he was waist deep in the water and the longing was so strong he could hardly turn back if he wanted to.

He could almost hear them, their voices caught on the late summer breeze, and they were laughing, joyful, no longer the screams of nightmare and memory but the laugher of early years, a time when the world had been so open and full of promise. The mist began to clear, and beyond, a isle of light beckoned. He plunged deeper; the white shores rose up to meet him and he reached out his hand to touch them-

\- and he was falling again, faster and deeper than before. The lake shimmered and disappeared, and all morphed into an icy blackness bordered with pain.

Strong arms held him, and for a dizzying moment, Gaius couldn't tell the rain from Merlin's tears (and perhaps there wasn't such a difference after all). And then Merlin was laughing, in shock and fear and overwhelming relief.

For a moment, he remembered the white shores across the mist-shrouded lake, and something like longing swept over him.

. . . but it wasn't his time, not yet, and it wouldn't do to think of such things. And so he laughed too, in sorrow and acceptance and quiet understanding.

The rain drenched them to the bone, but neither of them cared.

* * *

 **Episode tag: 1x13**

 ** _"I didn't think it would end this way."_**

 ** _"End? No, the journey doesn't end here. Death is just another path - one that we all must take. The gray rain curtain of this world rolls back, and all turns to silver glass." [Looking beyond] "And then you see it."_**

 ** _"What? Gandalf, see what?"_**

 ** _"White shores. And beyond - a far green country, under a swift sunrise."_**

 ** _"Well. That isn't so bad."_**

 ** _"No. No, it isn't."_**

 ** _-Lord of the Rings: Return of the King_**


	66. Leagues

**Leagues**

Gaius walked in and sat down heavily. "Somebody has challenged you to a duel," he said without preamble.

Merlin looked up. "Me?"

"Yes."

"That doesn't make sense," Merlin said, laying aside his spell book.

"I know."

"I mean - I mean, if they don't know about my magic, they're way out of my league, and if they do know about my magic, I'm way out of _their_ league." Merlin said, gesturing vaguely.

"Indeed."

"Well," Merlin said with a sigh, "let's see what's going on."

"By accepting the challenge?" Gaius asked in weary resignation.

"Probably," Merlin admitted, surging to his feet. "Let's go."


	67. Isolde

**Isolde**

"You knew Tristan and Isolde?" Arthur asked in surprise.

King Mark's eyes were unfathomable. "I knew Isolde, yes."

"Isolde died several years ago," Merlin said softly.

King Mark was silent for several heartbeats. "I was to marry her, you know," he said at last. "Isolde. It was an arranged marriage, but we had known about it for years. We met sometimes, as children. Our parents thought we should know the person we would one day marry. We could have been happy."

He shrugged, although the movement was shadowed with old grief. "She didn't like to be contained. She did not take well to arranged marriage, although I don't believe she hated me. Two months before our wedding, we received word that she had eloped with a smuggler." He paused. "I kept an eye on her as well as I could manage. I knew she was in Camelot when I heard that a smuggler who fought at your side died retaking the castle. I had hoped - but I never heard news of her again."

"I am sorry," Arthur said softly. "She died bravely. She saved my life."

Mark drew a shaky breath. "She would have liked that, saving a king. Doing something important. Isolde once told me she feared she would never be able to do anything worthwhile."

He closed his eyes. "Was she happy, in the end?"

Arthur thought Isolde, dying with a smile in Tristan's arms. _Partners for life_. "Yes."

"I am glad," Mark said simply, then let the mask of a king slide back onto his face. "Now, for the alliance . . ."


	68. Minute

**Minute**

Arthur set his mouth in a thin line. The knight-to-be was certainly proficient with arms; he had more than proved himself in the practice session, although Arthur had said nothing.

His father thought that all his knights must be trustworthy on and off the battlefield if they were to be entrusted with the safety of the kingdom and of his son. Arthur agreed with him; however, his definition of trustworthy varied somewhat from his father. Vortimer was good with a sword, but he was also cruel to his lessors and vengeful in wounded pride. Such a man was unpredictable, unreliable, and not the sort of man Arthur would want at his back, not the sort of man who would help build the kingdom Arthur hoped to one day rule.

"Vortimer!" he called, and the young lord turned, an arrogant smile on his face. Vortimer knew what was coming. The whole courtyard did. "Defend yourself," Arthur ordered, and the young man drew his sword confidently. "Last against me for one minute, and I will make you a knight," Arthur said impassively. It was no less than anyone was expecting.

Arthur narrowed his eyes, quickly sizing up the stance of his opponent. Vortimer was good - very good, knight quality - but he was no match for Arthur. Arthur's challenge to new recruits was to last a minute against him; in truth, it was Arthur that dictated the flow of battle, Arthur that went easier or harder on the recruit depending on their skill, and Arthur that ultimately decided if the recruit would last a minute against him or not. (Lancelot had been the only exception, and for that, Arthur had been willing to overlook far more than his pedigree.)

Vortimer wouldn't last half a minute.

(He didn't.)


	69. Hat

**Hat**

"Tonight," Arthur said happily, "you'll be wearing the official ceremonial robes of the Court Sorcerer."

Merlin's eyes snapped accusingly to Arthur. "The last time you said that -"

"- I said the official ceremonial robes of the servants of Camelot, not the Court Sorcerer," Arthur corrected, ducking into the wardrobe.

"I have a feeling it will be just as bad," Merlin said under his breath.

Arthur came out, brandishing the outfit.

"No," Merlin said, with a glare that could rival Gaius. "Absolutely not."

"But Merlin," Arthur protested, struggling to keep the smile off his face, "I made that hat just for you."

"That hat," Merlin said darkly, "is even worse than the atrocity with feathers. It . . . Arthur, is that stars on it?"

"I think it suits you," Arthur said, finally giving in to laughter.

" _No_."


	70. Young

**Young**

When Morgana was six, she wanted to be a princess.

When Lancelot was five, he wanted to be a farmer.

When Will was seven, he wanted to be a hero.

When Leon was six, he wanted to be a knight.

When Gwen was four, she wanted to be a blacksmith.

When Merlin was five, he wanted to be a dragon.

* * *

 _Where am I going? I don't quite know.  
What does it matter where people go?  
Down to the wood where the blue-bells grow-  
Anywhere, anywhere. I don't know."  
― **A.A. Milne** , **When We Were Very Young**_


	71. Goodbye

**Goodbye**

 _Episode tag: 1x10_

It took Arthur a long time to figure out exactly what it was that so quickly made the cocky, irreverent villager one of his best and only confidantes.

He was still unraveling the mystery that was Merlin, but he thought he had began, at last, to understand. Merlin understood what he said.

Oh, no, not the words he spoke, but what he actually said. No one, not even his father, had ever managed such a feat. And now he was suddenly anxious, for Merlin was leaving him. Oh, how he wished Merlin were one of his subjects, so he could command Merlin to stay! (He kept forgetting how Merlin was not actually a citizen of Camelot, how he would be nothing more than a foreigner, the Physician's Ward, if he had not saved Arthur's life from a dagger in front of his father).

He could not even properly say goodbye, for he did not know how. So he did what he always did; he spoke lightly, trusting in Merlin's ability to hear the unspoken message.

"Well you've been terrible; I mean it. The worst servant I've ever had."

And Merlin was already shifting, ducking his head to half-hide his smile, and when he spoke, his words were full of more genuine gratitude than Arthur had heard from anyone before, future king or no. "Thank you, sire."

It was enough for Arthur to finally muster up the courage to say what might have been his first proper goodbye. "Merlin," he said, and Merlin turned. "Good luck."

A few hours later, Arthur watched the retreating figure of his now-former manservant cross the courtyard beneath. And, now that Merlin was free of such social restrictions as "servant" and was simply Merlin, Arthur could see his friend for what seemed like the first time. "Oh, sod it!" he snapped, turning on his heel. He could put on his own armor, despite what Merlin claimed, and all that was really left was to wait for the right moment to slip out of Camelot without attracting his father's attention.

He was, after all, terrible at saying goodbye.


	72. Stuck

**Stuck**

"Do something," Will hissed.

"I _am_ ," Merlin hissed back. "This is hard."

"Well, try harder," Will whispered urgently.

"I _am_ ," Merlin repeated as Will wriggled to no avail. He was stuck.

"We're going to get caught if we don't get out in the next minute," Will reminded, tugging at his trapped leg. "Can't you do something more than stop this from falling on us?"

"Like what?" Merlin shot back. His attention momentarily slipped; the cart slid out of his control and pressed down even more inescapably on the two boys.

"Just get it off," Will snapped.

"I can't."

"Yes you _can_ , because if you don't Old Thomas is going to find us and skin us alive."

"Fine," Merlin hissed, and shoved the wagon with all his strength.

They watched, bemused, as it soared off, high above the trees, to land with a muffled crash at least half a league away.

Will broke the silence. "Couldn't have done that earlier, could you?" he asked whimsically, dragging Merlin to his feet. "Come on."

It wasn't until several years later that Merlin would understand that holding time suspended over one's head was far more difficult than shoving a wooden wagon off a small boy. Not that Will would have been particularly impressed, he reflected ruefully, and simply shrugged when Will brought it up again (and again and again). They had escaped being skinned alive, and that was the important part.

(Everyone had been baffled at how the cart had managed to get tangled in the limbs of a massive oak so far from the village. Will and Merlin wisely kept their mouths shut.)


	73. Research

**Research**

Geoffrey looked down fondly at the sleeping manservant, curled up in a quiet alcove of the library. Merlin was researching. Again. He peered down at the title of the book Merlin was reading - _A History of Blood Binding_. It was one of the few magical books that survived the Purge, as it contained potentially valuable information on the war against sorcery. (Many of the rest, supposedly burned, were in a sealed chamber in the back of the library. It could get him executed, but it broke his heart to destroy so many books.)

He wasn't all that surprised when the next day, a sorcerer, through a dark enchantment that cursed people's blood, nearly brought Camelot to its knees. Nor was he surprised when Arthur broke the enchantment at the last second, his servant watching quietly from the shadows.

He didn't know what it was about Merlin, but whatever it was, Camelot was safe in his hands.


	74. Horrified

**Horrified**

 _Episode tag: 1x01_

"This merits something quite special," Uther said generously, briskly overriding the boy's surprise. "You shall be awarded a position in the royal household. You shall be Prince Arthur's manservant."

Had Uther known that he was appointing the most powerful magic user ever to live to be his son's constant companion, he would have been beyond horrified.

Had the Druids known that Emrys was currently entering the service of the crown of Camelot, they would have been beyond horrified.

As it was, it was just Merlin and Arthur who were beyond horrified at the prospect of being stuck with each other for the foreseeable future.


	75. Describe

**Describe**

"Elyan" Lancelot said. Percival thought.

"Lost," he said.

Elyan nodded silently from the corner, and Lancelot hurriedly chose someone else. "Gwaine."

It was a game they played, for Percival to try and describe someone in one word. It was a game, but a quiet, respectful one, for Percival, despite or perhaps because of his quiet nature, saw piercingly clearly into the hearts of others.

Now a smile, small and proud, flitted across Percival's face. "Strong," he stated, and Gwaine laughed. He looked startled and pensive, but played his part well.

"Thanks, mate," he said lightly. "Do Merlin." Percival paused.

". . . Lonely," he said at last, and Gwaine nodded as if he had suspected all along and was only now receiving confirmation.

Elyan's eyes were distant, thoughtful, while Lancelot looked sharply at Percival. Percival met his gaze evenly, and while the conversation turned to others, Lancelot's eyes never left Percival.

* * *

 **These drabbles sometimes write themselves, so I honestly don't know if Percival knows or not. (Lancelot doesn't know, either.)**


	76. Belt

**Belt**

Arthur woke up to an quiet room, a curtained window, and a conspicuous lack of Merlin. Again. Sighing, he pulled open the curtains and dressed himself for the day.

He froze, then smiled.

His belt could only be properly tightened by using the _second_ to last hole on the belt.

When Merlin came barging in a few minutes later, he was greeted to the rare sight of the king whistling happily under his breath as he prepared for the day. "Merlin!" he said. "What a beautiful morning!"

"Er," said Merlin, looking utterly baffled, and Arthur laughed. It was going to be a good day.


	77. Skill

**Skill**

 _There cannot possibly be a worse manservant in all of Camelot_ , Arthur said, and he said it so often that he sometimes forgot that it was not true.

There had been a time - a few weeks, no more - when the statement held some measure of truth, when Merlin would look hopelessly at a suit of armor and freeze in wonder at Arthur's expansive wardrobe, but Merlin was far better than anyone gave him credit for. Within a month, he had transformed from a country boy into royalty's manservant, and if he spoke his mind too often, or laughed at the ridiculousness of court, or was bold enough to cross his master when his master was wrong -

-well, there was a reason Arthur had gone through so many manservants, and he was only beginning to realize that it was because they were all far too good. Merlin was not. And so, even from the beginning, his alleged inadequacy was as much a hidden compliment as anything.

But words, oft repeated, have a way of sinking into the minds of those who say them and quietly settling into the unconscious flow of thought and action. Merlin was a terrible manservant. What other idiot would drink poison for the man whose wardrobe he maintained? This was not the role of a servant; no, that was an act firmly in the realm of loyalty, perhaps even friendship, and that was so unsettling and unexpected that Arthur quickly filed this act, too, under _idiot_.

(And if idiot began to sound less scathing and more fond, then no one was foolish enough to point it out.)

 _How may I serve you, your highness?_ George asked, and it dawned on Arthur that Merlin never bothered to ask; he set about the task of caring for Arthur without such pointless formalities. There was a calm about Merlin, a familiarity with his role so intrinsic that he could act an idiot and still be twice as efficient as anyone else that tended to the prince.

Incompetent, hopeless, terrible, idiot - all titles slowly began to take their toll on Arthur, until he sometimes forgot that Merlin wasn't.

(Sometimes. Other times, he most certainly was.)

* * *

(A quiet thought. A whisper, no more. Sometimes - sometimes Merlin was quite different.)


	78. Round

**Round**

"I take it back; this was a terrible idea," Merlin said, sizing up the new delivery.

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Ten minutes ago, you were excited I finally had it made."

"Arthur," Merlin said, "I think I realized why no one's done this for thousands of years. It's really not about equality and justice and all that. It's the fact that rectangular tables _fit through the door_."

Arthur looked at the massive, twenty-foot round table on the courtyard in front of them. " . . . That might be a bit of a problem," he admitted.

* * *

 **Merry Christmas (a day late)!**

 **This was a fun one to write, although I'm not sure what it says about me that I look at that beautiful table from season 5 and think _huh, how'd they get that through the doors?_**


	79. Duel

**Duel**

 _Sequel to Leagues, by popular request_

"Don't you dare accept," Arthur hissed.

Merlin flashed a quick grin that belied none of his uneasy dread. "Since when do I do what you say?" he asked.

"Since now," Arthur snapped, his words unusually close to concern. Merlin smiled, heartened, and slipped around Arthur onto the battle grounds.

He studied his unlikely opponent, who was unadorned and unthreatening, but projected an air of confidence. Rather like he suspected he himself looked when preparing to use his magic.

"Merlin," Lionel greeted him, not unkindly. _Emrys_ , Lionel said silently, with a faint flicker of a smile, and Merlin startled. "To surrender?" Lionel asked, and Merlin nodded. Not to the death. That would appease Arthur, and he really had no business killing a man he did not know, regardless of the strange circumstances.

Lionel attacked and Merlin countered. Lionel's eyes flashed, and Merlin stumbled. Ah. A double duel; one fought with swords, the other with magic.

The wind stirred, and a cloud of gritty dust sent Lionel stumbling back, shielding his eyes. Merlin cautiously probed the mental space between the two of them and found nothing but good-natured curiosity. He paused. It could be a trap, one meant to lure him into relaxing his guard, or - or - well, not everything was a trap, and not all strangers with magic were bent on destruction. After a moment's hesitation, he allowed himself to relax and enjoy the friendly game for what it was.

Lionel had recovered while he thought, and now he charged Merlin. Well. Arthur had taught him this much at least. When a man larger than you charges you with a sword, you duck, not parry. Unfortunately, that never worked particularly well when facing Arthur, but well, that was Arthur for you. Merlin spun away, nearly laughing for the sheer joy of the unexpected duel, and spun magic round his body with him. The magic would be nearly invisible from the stands, Merlin knew, and who really expected the king's servant to be using magic, anyways?

Lionel countered with a quick, invisible shielding spell, and just in time. Merlin's magic flew out in all directions, sending Lionel stumbling backwards; Merlin contrived to get the flat of his sword in Lionel's general vicinity so the sudden pulse of energy could be written off as something more ordinary and dull. Unexciting. What a loss the ban on magical duels were, Merlin thought, breathless with the joy of it all, and resolved to tease Arthur less for enjoying his tournaments.

They stood apart, both eyeing the other with healthy levels of caution and humor. Behind Lionel, Arthur stood, his face a study of confusion. He clearly haven't expected Merlin to last this long.

Lionel moved quickly, covering the distance between them with a few calculated, efficient steps. Merlin sidestepped, but instead of moving away as before, he changed directions and charged Lionel.

Lionel had clearly been expecting this. Both readied their swords, and although Merlin managed to deflect the physical attack, he missed the magical one. The sword shivered in his hand, tingling; the sword point dipped as Merlin struggled with the new weight of the sword. He hurriedly canceled it, or tried to, and found himself holding a sword that weighed almost nothing. It was both comfortable and unnerving how instinctual (and overdone) the magical counter was, and Merlin resolved to think about it later, when his - well, not his life, but when his chances of winning their peculiar game were not at risk.

All this was the work of seconds; Merlin wasn't sure if time had actually slowed or if his attention had just taken meticulous note of details, as Arthur sometimes talked about. In moments, the two were again facing each other across a measured gap.

The next few minutes were a sharp blur of magic and steel and two-layered fighting' as it became increasingly obvious that the two were fairly evenly matched. At last, Lionel got Merlin at sword point at the same moment Merlin wrangled Lionel's magic into a deadlock.

 _Draw_? Lionel asked, his tone amused, and Merlin nodded, biting the inside of his cheek to suppress his smile.

"I surrender," Merlin said loudly, and the small crowd cheered in startled praise.

 _As do I_ , Lionel said, removing his sword from Merlin's chest as Merlin released Lionel from the magical deadlock. Merlin walked towards a stunned Arthur, belatedly realizing that he and Lionel had been sparring for several minutes now.

Arthur studied Merlin, obviously baffled.

"Well, Arthur," Merlin said cheerfully, relishing the moment, "I suppose all those training sessions paid off after all."

* * *

 **I decided to take Merlin's comment in** ** _Leagues_ of him being much better in magic and much worse in swordplay and do both.**

 **Also, I have no idea who Lionel is - he took me by surprise. I do like him, though.**


	80. Home

**Home**

Elyan awoke to a gentle shake. "Elyan," Gwen whispered. Elyan moaned.

The shaking grew harder; the voice less gentle and more exasperated. "Elyan!"

Elyan attempted to wriggle deeper in bed, but his sister yanked the covers away with all the experience of a younger sister. "Get up!"

"I haven't had to get up this early for years," he complained groggily.

Gwen was unsympathetic. "You're a Knight of Camelot now, and you will. Get. Up." She prodded him in the ribs, just as she had done when they were young, and he reluctantly began to stir.

She was much more cheerful once he staggered out of bed. "Good. Breakfast's on the table, and training starts in half an hour."

She stood to leave, but turned around in the doorway. "I missed you," she said quietly. "I'm glad you're home."


	81. Bootlickers

**Booklickers**

Arthur barged into Merlin's new rooms in an odd reversal of roles. "I take it back," he said darkly. "I'm never going to let you become my Court Sorcerer. I'm going _insane_."

"It can't be so bad," Merlin said with a faint smile.

"It was terribly inconsiderate of you to teach me to hate booklickers then leave me to a castle full of them," Arthur snapped.

That wasn't the only thing, Merlin saw. "And?" he prompted.

"And I got George."

"Ah."


	82. Hobble

**Hobble**

"You cannot suppress magic forever," it rumbled as Uther, satisfied with his examination of the magic-suppressing shackle, prepared to leave.

"I already have," Uther said coldly. "Already it dies in the streets and withers away on the pyre. Soon, there will be nothing left but stories of the wretched, evil nightmare that Camelot defeated at last."

The dragon, icy in its flaming rage, smiled. "Your son will know more of magic than any that have ever preceded him or that ever will follow. He is inevitably bound up in the workings of Fate, and not even you can stand in his way."

Arthur. The son he had given everything for, the son he would give everything (but her) over a thousand times again. "Arthur will never know the evils of magic," Uther spat. "I have paid a heavy price for him, and I will not let magic steal any from my family again."

Something ancient turned in the captive's eyes. "You speak as though their course is for you alone to determine. Hear me, Uther Pendragon, and heed well my words: magic has already laid claim to the remainder of your family, for good or for evil. You are no more than loose stone in a shoe, laid to hobble the first few steps of an endless path of magic. You seek a path of destruction that inevitably leads to your death. You meddle with forces beyond your understanding, Uther Pendragon, and it will be your downfall."

" _It already has been_ ," Uther whispered, allowing, for the first time, his shattered heart to surface. It would be several years before he allowed it to emerge again.

He straightened. "Enough of your meddling words," he commanded. "I do not expect to see you again."

"Oh," the creature rumbled, "but I assure you that we will meet again."

Uther swept out of the cavern to appoint the guard to a chamber that no one would enter for twenty years. Behind him, the great dragon watched with piercing, ancient eyes.

Uther never returned.


	83. Bittersweet

**Bittersweet**

Not all visions of the future manifested themselves violently, terrifyingly. The evil warnings came suddenly and maliciously, but more often than not, the good premonitions came as a quiet flash of insight.

It was no different for Morgana.

She watched as Gwen flushed when Arthur walked by, and she watched the slight change in his gait as he noticed her presence. Firmer, yet hesitant.

 _Those two are going to marry someday_ , she realized, and smiled happily at the thought.


	84. Golden

**Golden**

 _Drabble for a guest requesting something related to the dragon-in-the-fire spell Merlin shows Arthur in 5x13._

There was something about how the golden dragon in the throne room caught the light just so. Arthur had marveled at it as a child, intently studying the symbol for hours. The gold was of no gold he had seen before; it was purer somehow, and brighter. Ordinary golden thread could not replicate the gold found there; the knights rode off to battle with dulled thread dragons upon their shoulders. Neither did true gold quite capture the effect, which was unusual when one thought about it.

It was with a sense of grief and awe that he claimed the throne room for himself after his father's passing. The dragon insignia glinted as he passed, a reminder that something was yet missing. His knights knelt and swore fealty to him, dull gold adorning their rippling cloaks. And he wondered.

Then came Caerleon's death and Guinevere's betrayal and Morgana's invasion and Merlin's revelation, and all thoughts of true gold were swept from his mind. It was not until months later that Arthur even recalled the thought.

Merlin was idly playing with the flames, his magic a cautious comfort between the two of them. First a bird, then a butterfly emerged in the sparks, and something about them tugged at the edges of Arthur's memory. The campfire suddenly erupted into hundreds of sparkling butterflies fluttering into the night sky, fading from glowing sparks to grey ashes that drifted down around them. Merlin smiled a little sheepishly and summoned a breeze that cleared the smoky, ashy air. He smiled faintly, and a small, golden dragon materialized in the fire, drifting slow, easy circles around their small campsite before returning to fire and ashes.

Arthur sat up suddenly. "Merlin," he said, "can you bring that dragon back?"

Merlin glanced curiously at him, shrugging slightly, and the golden dragon again reared from the flames. Arthur watched, mesmerized, as Merlin's golden magic mixed with the glowing sparks thrown off by the small fire to create a pulsing, gently glowing creature with an unmistakable gold. The symbol of Camelot, brought to intricate, beautiful life.

His breath caught as he realized that the warm, brilliant gold he has been seeking for so long was the color of magic, and the ever-present tug to find it had been perhaps more than childish curiosity. He swallowed, then spoke.

"Merlin?" he asked softly, and made his request.

A week later, the knights assembled and Arthur paused, blinking back . . . something. Certainly not tears.

On every shoulder lay a pure, brilliantly gold dragon.

Magic had returned.


	85. Stranger

**Stranger**

Raised voices. Panic, and fear. Gwaine rushed towards the situation.

What he found -

He found a young girl, bleeding badly, and an elderly woman crouched over her. He heard a whisper and saw a flash of gold. He witnessed a life saved, a wound healed.

Then the woman turned and he saw fear. He paused. "I don't know you," he said neutrally.

"No, milord," she whispered. He hated that word. _Milord_. It reminded him of cruelty and indifference and all the reasons he had left home in the first place.

"Best keep it that way," he said briskly, and walked away.


	86. Beginnings

**Beginnings**

"Oh, he's a prat, all right," Merlin said conversationally to Gwen, who stifled a nervous giggle.

A passing guard glared at the two of them. "Show some respect to your future king!" he snapped.

Merlin's smile grew. " _Once_ and Future King," he said under his breath.

"What was that?" the guard asked, a hint of danger in his voice.

Merlin smothered his smile, but hidden laughter still danced in his eyes. "Nothing."


	87. Strawberry

**Strawberry**

"Strawberry?" Arthur offered, and glanced up at the lack of response. He stood up hurriedly as he saw the look on his friend's face. "Oh, Merlin, you promised . . ."

"I promised I would tell you everything in its due time," Merlin said softly, his eyes still distant. "I do not think it is that time yet. It's nothing serious, Arthur. Nothing -" his voice wavered slightly. "-nothing dangerous."

An. So it was one of these kinds of secrets. Not one that lashed out at others, but instead attacked only his brave friend who bore pain and secrets far too well. In Arthur's experience (he had rather more than he would have liked), these tended to inflict the most damage.

When Merlin had began the painful task of unraveling the shroud of secrets he was encased in, both of them thought it was to make reparations, on both sides, for the secret war Merlin had been fighting, alone and unaided, for more years than Arthur wanted to remember.

Slowly, though, Arthur had come to realize it was about healing, for both of them but more especially Merlin. He did not think Merlin, wise and far-seeing in so many ways, understood this quite yet. And so the task fell to Arthur to drag out the pain-laden secrets of the past to hold and to heal.

"Tell me," he said, a request, a command, and after a moment, Merlin complied. He sat down slowly, his eyes lingering on the small bowl of strawberries. "Her name was Freya," he started in a mostly steady voice, and Arthur was instantly alert. Whether it was the presence of an unknown woman or the painfully obvious past tense that more concerned him, he could not say, but he knew that this secret, at last, could gain the understanding and healing it so desperately needed.

So he listened as his friend, his advisor, his guide and protector, wove a story of a frightened young women and quiet love and heartbreaking curses. Of lakes and swords and two immortals separated by death. Of stories and secrets, and Arthur thought _this, this is what I have been missing from him. This is what he has been holding back._

Merlin finished with a faint smile (how did he always manage to smile?). "It's not so bad," he said quietly. "I saw her just last Samhain."

Arthur swallowed a lump in his throat as he tried to imagine seeing his beloved Guinevere once a year only, and silently accepted that in some ways, Merlin was much stronger than himself. "Thank you for telling me," he whispered.

Merlin only shrugged, the movement a mixture of exhaustion, relief, and reflection - as it often was after times like this - and reached for the small bowl with a faraway smile. "Mm," he agreed - an evasion and an answer both, for his mouth was full of strawberry.

* * *

 **By this point, Arthur and Merlin have gone through enough together to feel less guilty about Freya's death. It was terrible that Arthur had to kill her, but both know that both had acted the best they knew how.**


	88. Eccentric

**Eccentric**

When he had been younger, they had all put it down to quirkiness. Arthur had called it " _Mer_ lin", in that ever so expressive shout that the castle had become quite accustomed to over the years. Uther had called it "do you have some sort of mental affliction?" and Gwen had called it charming. Morgana had only given him an arch look, although the corners of her mouth had twitched ever so slightly.

But that was when he was nineteen. Now, it was settling into comfortable eccentricy, which was the polite term for men who were too respected to be called strange.

He wasn't old, not exactly, not ever, but while he had never managed to make it much beyond thirty, people had decided that a man who had walked the earth for nearly fifty years ought to be treated as such. That meant he was occasionally treated as an invalid, which could be mildly irritating, but the silent permission to be eccentric more than made up for it.

Merlin grinned and allowed himself to use, just for a little while, what Arthur had christened his "Dragoon" temperament. It was lovely, really; all the perks of old age and none of the drawbacks. He stretched, listening in smug satisfaction to the sound of his back not cracking (Arthur's did, now; after a brief, solemn silence the first time around, Merlin never missed the opportunity to tease him about it) and stood.

"I am who I am and I am who I was and I am who I always will be," he said happily to no one in particular, wondering if anyone ever heard the hidden message in the nonsensical phrase. Probably not.

Well, perhaps Gwen did, he amended silently. She rarely missed anything. Still -

Merlin shrugged wearily and walked out the door.

"You!" he barked to the startled guardsmen who was young enough to take him seriously, a plan twitching in the back of his mind. He laughed, then, drawing from the deep wellspring of humor and singleminded determination to be happy that would serve him well beyond his years in Camelot. This was going to be incredible.

Gwaine was passing by, looking more serious and withdrawn than normal. The whole business with Eira had been quite heartbreaking - Gwaine looked like he needed to smile.

"Gwaine!" he called, quickly roping Gwaine into his ridiculous plan.

Gwaine laughed, a true ring of pleasure in his voice. Merlin grinned and helped him carefully lower the bucket.

By the end of the day, several people were drenched. Eccentric. Such a wonderful word.

" _Mer_ lin!" the High King of Albion bellowed, authority rolling off him in waves even as he stood dripping wet in the middle of the corridor. It was quite impressive, really.

"Ah, time to go," Merlin whispered to his co-conspirator with a wince, although a smile tugged at his lips. Gwaine threw back his head and laughed.

It gave away their hiding spot, but it was well worth it. Probably.

* * *

 **This came about because it occurred to me that Merlin's peculiar, quirky nature could very well transition into the eccentric older wizard of legend. Also, I believe Merlin handles hardship by being happy.**


	89. Healer

**Healer**

Merlin is no warrior.

This he has teased about, groaned about, and occasionally, worried about. Because for not being a warrior, Merlin finds himself in an awful lot of fights.

Yet it is never clearer than it is now, for Arthur's warrior eyes know that the wound is far beyond recovery, yet Merlin sees only a wounded man in need of help.

No warrior would waste time tending to a fatal blow; the time is better spent defending others, or, if battle has ceased, listening to last words. No warrior could have healed such a wound.

Kai gasps greedily for the precious air so long denied him and Merlin relaxes, the set of his shoulders speaking of weariness and relief.

Because Merlin is no warrior.


	90. Busy

**Busy**

"Merlin?" Gwen said.

"Mm?" Merlin said, looking up from his fortress of books.

"When you were Arthur's servant," she said slowly, with the air of sudden realization, "you ran around after him all day?"

He grinned, a rare sight in the past few days. "Still do."

"And you ran errands for Gaius and learned to be a physican at the same time?"

He nodded. "It was very helpful. Half the time, I was putting medicine in the soup since Arthur insisted he didn't need it unless he was half dead."

And it still tasted good, Gwen marveled distractedly.

"And," she said, stressing the word, "you went around defending the kingdom from treachery and attacks unaided for eight years?"

"Um, yes," Merlin said slowly. "Aside from Gaius. Gwen, where is this going?"

She leaned against the wall with a defeated sigh. "Merlin, when did you _sleep_?"

* * *

 **We're approaching 100 drabbles. I have no intention of stopping, mostly since I have more written/planned out. So when this series does end, it'll probably be on some awkward number like 163.**

 **Anyways, at 100 I'll be posting a handful of drabbles I've written concerning the magic reveal and the immediate aftermath. They won't be a story, exactly, just brief moments sketching in a particular scene. I'll be posting these quickly - one every day or so - so if you like these sort of drabbles, great, and if you prefer the more everyday drabbles, this won't take too much time out of my regular updating schedule.**


	91. Neckerchief

**Neckerchief**

"It really doesn't fit your station," Arthur ventured, although by now, he had a fair idea what the answer would be.

Sure enough, his new manservant only clung tighter to the neckerchief. "I'm keeping it," he said stubbornly, and Arthur sighed. Fifteen minutes of persuasion had yielded nothing, and he had neither the time nor the inclination to spend any longer on the issue.

"Keep it, then," he snapped. "Perhaps it will tie your head to your shoulders, for once."

Merlin smiled.

* * *

"It _really_ doesn't fit your station, Merlin," Arthur said in resignation, for he had just remembered why this conversation seemed so familiar.

Sure enough, his Court Sorcerer only smiled. "I'm keeping it," he said with a flicker of amusement in his voice. It seemed that Merlin, too, remembered.

Arthur sighed. Merlin laughed.

The neckerchief stayed.

* * *

 **SisterOfAnElvenWannabe asked if these drabbles are all in the same universe. So I'm bringing up something I really should have brought up (much) earlier - all of these drabbles are set in the same universe, and diverge from canon about a year after season four ends.**


	92. Explanation

**Explanation**

"Merlin," Leon said hesitantly, and finally asked the long-sought and long-dreaded answer. "Am I -"

"No," Merlin said without turning around. "I would have seen it."

"I did not ask."

"You did not have to."

"Then how -"

Merlin finally turned to face him. "When the druids healed you with the cup of life, it did more than just bring you back," he admitted. "The spell is a life for a life, and there were so many dead and dying around that you got more than life than most. You survive more than any ordinary men could. But you are not immortal."

Leon breathed out slowly, a sigh four years in the making. "Good," he said with deep, unthinking feeling. Then he flinched. "Mer-"

"It's alright," Merlin said softly, his face once again to the window.


	93. Bow

**Bow**

"Merlin?" Gwen asked. Merlin bowed rather theatrically, for he had experienced rather a lot of bowing in the past few weeks and was rather ready to bow instead be bowed to, for once. For all his magic, he was still a country boy that served nobility, Emrys thought sourly. Being nobility himself was something quite foreign and not entirely pleasant.

Gwen shot him a glare that could level both mountains and her husband's arguments. Merlin shrugged it off. Here they were, two servants that had been catapulted into the center of politics, and sometimes, they both felt it.

He sighed. "I don't think I properly appreciated how much you managed to shoulder after your wedding."

"If I had known," Gwen said, her voice warm but wry, "I might not have married him, after all."

"It's a good thing you did," Merlin said, and she shrugged.

"A good thing you are taking your place, too," she said softly.

Merlin pulled a face. "I think I'm still in the if-I-had-known-I-wouldn't-have-done-it stage," he said with a sigh.

"Really?" Gwen asked with a sharp, knowing look.

"Well, no," Merlin admitted, "but I would have made peace with Arthur, then left very quickly before the political side caught up."

"Well," Gwen said, looking out at the sunset over the Lower Town, "it's a good thing you didn't."

"Maybe," Merlin grumbled.

They watched the sun set together.


	94. Feathers

**Feathers**

Arthur leaned easily against the stone columns, taking in the sight.

It was quite the sight. Cloth scattered, windows swung open, feathers everywhere. He waited for the opportune moment to speak. Wait . . . wait . . . wait . . .

There!

" _Mer_ lin," he said loudly, strolling into sight. " _What_ is going on here?"

Merlin jumped and turned as Arthur halfway smothered his laughter.

"Well," Merlin started, determinedly ignoring the room behind him, "you see-"


	95. Benediction

**Benediction**

 _Post 3x13_

"And the gardens are lovely today, your majesty," she rambled on, wiping away accumulating dust on the forgotten mantelpiece. "I'll bring some flowers up later to brighten up the room. I -"

"Guinevere." The voice was faint and raspy from disuse. Gwen slowly turned.

"Yes, your majesty?" she managed.

Uther looked at her, and while his eyes were still vague and tired, something piercing and clear struggled through for brief moments. The eyes of a king. Gwen shivered.

"Arthur cares for you very much," he murmured. "Any fool can see, and I -" he coughed, slumped, and straightened, "- have been a greater fool than I realized."

Gwen stood stock still, a strange blend of petrified fear and calm reassurance coursing through her. Arthur would protect her from his father; they both knew it, but both had dearly hoped it would not come to this point. She remained silent.

Uther looked out the window, his face a mask. "You would not be my first choice, or even my last," he said softly, "but you are Arthur's choice, and it is time he makes up his own mind. You have a father's blessing on your marriage, Guinevere of Leodegrance." The words were solemn and final.

The clearness in his eyes faded, and the old king slumped, his brief flash of lucidity fleeting and past. Gwen swallowed. "Thank you, your majesty," she managed. "I - I'll go fetch those flowers.

She doubted he heard.


	96. Exasperation

**Exasperation**

Arthur stared at the land before them. It looked like it had been hit by an earthquake.

It had.

"You can do that," Arthur said, gesturing to the ground in front of them, "but you can't fix a broken bone?"

Merlin's pale face grinned up at him. "Never was great with healing magic."

Arthur sighed and resisted the urge to cuff the almighty warlock over the head. "You idiot," he said, hauling Merlin to his feet. Merlin winced as his leg jostled. "Let's get you to Gaius."

"Yes, sire," Merlin said, resigned and amused, and the two set off.


	97. Training

**Training**

Arthur held the blade at Merlin's throat. "You're dead."

Merlin shrugged and Arthur snapped. "Can't you take this a little more seriously!" he exploded.

"When I fight against you, I die," Merlin snapped back. "Honestly. You knight the people who last a minute against you, yet _I_ get in trouble for not being able to defeat you."

Arthur removed the blade from Merlin's throat and pulled Merlin to his feet. "I'm not asking you to defeat me, I'm asking you to be halfway competent at defending yourself!"

Merlin muttered savagely under his breath and grimly got into position. Something solemn flickered in his eyes; unsure, Arthur attacked, aiming for the hilt of Merlin's sword. At the last second, Arthur's foot twisted out from under him and he crashed to the ground. Merlin quickly snatched Arthur's sword away, holding both swords at Arthur's throat. "You're dead," he said flatly. Arthur rolled his eyes.

"It was pure coincidence, Merlin," Arthur sighed. "You can't count on someone losing their footing every time you fight them."

Merlin glanced away. " _You_ can't," he murmured.

"What was that?" he asked absently, already preparing for their next sadly one-sided battle.

Merlin glanced up at him, his face a mask of calm sadness. "I said, you're right, I can't. Can't rely on people falling, I mean."

Arthur launched into his next attack, and Merlin raised his shield with a resigned sigh.

* * *

 **It takes real nerve - and real trust - to allow someone to come running at you with a sword and reign in absolute mountains of innate magic. And sometimes, it might be tiring to have to hide your immeasurable talent so well that everyone assumes you're an incompetent fool.**


	98. If

**If**

 _Prequel to_ Training _. Episode tag: 1x13._

Arthur hated being injured. It left one with far too little to do, and consequently, far too much time to think. Normally, he might have enjoyed the brief reprieve, but Merlin, true to form, had managed to spoil even that.

 _I'm happy to serve you,_ he had said, _until the day I die._ Arthur had taken little note of it at the time, but later spent hours puzzling over that strange, solemn conversation. Arthur couldn't help but feel he was missing something crucial, something Merlin had never got around to telling him.

A terrible, fleeting thought brushed past his mind. _What if Merlin was-_

He immediately dismissed the thought. Merlin was gone the next day, however, and though he would never admit it, he breathed a small sigh of relief when Merlin woke him up as usual the day after. He studied Merlin closely. Merlin seemed tired - exhausted, even - and there was something about the weariness that was more than a lack of sleep. _What if-_

Arthur dragged Merlin down for several hours of training that morning, much to Merlin's irritation. " _Focus_ , Merlin," Arthur snapped between swings. "You have to know how to keep yourself alive. If you can't defend yourself-"

Merlin hissed a heartfelt retort as Arthur knocked the shield out of his hand yet again, but Arthur didn't rise to the challenge. Merlin could think whatever he wanted, so long as _what if-_ never became _what now?_

Perhaps he was reading too much into it. Perhaps Merlin had just been feeling particularly Merlin-ish that night. Merlin had it coming anyways, for making Arthur worry about him.


	99. Knocking

**Knocking**

Gwen knocked, a little shyly. There was a quiet groan from inside, and an unenthusiastic "Come in." She hesitated before opening the door. Arthur turned around, and a delighted smile grew on his face. "Guinevere!" He paused. "You shouldn't knock before you come in," he added.

She frowned slightly. "It is considered polite," she reminded him gently.

Arthur sighed. "I know, but _Mer_ lin never knocks, and anyone else who knocks is telling me why the kingdom's about to fall or telling me I'm supposed to be in a meeting. I'm afraid I don't happen to like people that knock on my door," he said apologetically.

Gwen pursed her lips and hid a smile.

* * *

 **Alright. Next week starts the 100-drabble-celebration, also known as the semiconnected drabble version of the Reveal and the fallout (but 95% fallout). Stay tuned.**


	100. The Coming of Albion: Listen

**Listen**

 _Once_

"Sometimes I think I know you, Merlin. Other times . . ."

"Well, I know you, and you're a great warrior. One day you'll be a great King."

"That's very kind of you."

"But you must learn to listen as well as you fight."

"Any more pointers?"

"No. That's it. Just . . . don't be a prat."

* * *

 _And Future_

Arthur looked up in grudging gratitude and mild exasperation as Merlin barged into his room. "Don't say I told you-"

"I told you so," Merlin announced, almost cheerfully.

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Anything else you'd like to tell me?" he asked lightly.

A shadow flickered across Merlin's face, but it was gone the next second. "Yes," he said, in that ever-baffling mix of casual humor and deep solemnity. "I'm a sorcerer - a warlock, actually - powerful enough to raze Camelot, but I never would because I believe in who you are, who you will be."

"You see, Merlin," Arthur said, lazily leaning back in his chair and uneasily dismissing the intensity in Merlin's eyes, "this is why I don't listen to you when you turn out to be right. You say the most _ridiculous_ things the rest of the time."

* * *

 _King_

Arthur was frozen in shock. Merlin slowly turned, resigned and calm, as his eyes dimmed from burning gold to tired blue. "Well," he said wearily - but not without a spark of humor - "I told you so."


	101. The Coming of Albion: Reborn

**Rebirth**

He had learned a great deal, over the years, about the extent of his magic. It was a small spark that, when fanned, exploded into a firestorm of golden light. Beautiful. Dangerous. Protective when used one way, and deadly when used another.

And unalterably _his_. Yes, he knew a great deal about his magic.

But the phoenix called for something quite different. Courage. Courage to act when there was no shadow to hide in, courage to speak when no lie could mask the truth.

Merlin closed his eyes and summoned his magic. Then, summoning his courage, he opened his eyes and reached out to the phoenix as equals, as creatures of magic. There was a frozen moment, a moment where Merlin stood not in the fragile, mortal sphere of the throne room, but somewhere quite different, where the phoenix, dull flame dimming, joined him in unspoken relief. Merlin gently reached for the creature; there was a moment of burning, of piercing pain - then phoenix burst into flame, crumpling to the ground as nothing more than a charred pile of ash.

He had dreamed of burning since he was young, but this was different. Cleansing. Something about the phoenix's fire renewed instead of destroyed, and Merlin clung to it as as the last ashes fluttered to the ground of the shellshocked throne room.

Abruptly, he was no longer a great sorcerer or a unbroken creature of magic, but simply a frightened friend. He breathed in the last traces of the hot, golden air and summoned his courage yet again, slowly turning to face Arthur.

And yes, there was shock, horror, betrayal in Arthur's eyes - things he had always expected and dreaded. But there was also something else, something indefinable, something he would never be able to articulate but trusted with the entirety of his soul.

At the same moment Merlin dared to hope, the broken, dead bird flared into brilliantly golden light, a life reborn that chased away the last shadows from the room. Magic _sang_ , a haunting melody that hung in the air, sweeping away lies with ageless truth.

Merlin Emrys was a sorcerer.

Merlin dared to reach for half a smile. "Well, I told you so."

* * *

 **Alright. Here we go. The first chapter in this series went up last week, but I know a lot of people didn't get the update notification. I'll be posting this quickly from here on out - I should have a new chapter up every day except Sundays until _The Coming of Albion_ is complete.**

 **This series deals with a few of the more important moments about and immediately following the reveal. _Change_ , chapter 45, rightfully belongs in this series, but I wrote that before knowing I would write a full reveal so it's out of order. A few other drabbles, such as _Heritage_ , touch on events in this timeframe but aren't as central, defining moments.**


	102. The Coming of Albion: Survive

**Survive**

Arthur had been angry with Merlin - _quite_ angry, actually - until Merlin managed to get a word in edgewise.

"Why did you never tell me?" Arthur half-cried, dreading the weight of yet another crushing betrayal. He knew with all his soul that he would not survive this one.

Merlin bit his lip. He hadn't ever wanted to put Arthur in this position, between magic and his father, and there was a time and a place to tell Arthur that, but also - "Because," he said quietly, a catch in his voice, "almost everyone who knows _dies_ , Arthur."

And that, for the moment, was quite enough to bring Arthur's pain-induced rage to a screeching halt.


	103. The Coming of Albion: Reactions

**Reactions**

"Give me one reason -" Arthur started, unsure how the sentence would end. His stomach twisted at the thought. Merlin interrupted him with a murmur of magic, and Arthur quietly noted that his second reaction had been fear, while his _first_ reaction had been gratitude. Merlin always did know the proper time to interrupt.

The reason appeared; a shimmering ball hovered between the two, light drifting across its blue surface. "If I wanted to kill you," Merlin said solemnly, watching the sphere weave a slow, luminescent path around the room, "I never would have sent this."

 _Spidersenchantressslippingcannotreachgoingtodie-_

 _-a shimmering ball of light. Safety. Peace._

His first reaction to the sphere was to relax. He did not have a second reaction.

He added it to the growing list of reasons why he needed to rethink his stance on magic.

* * *

 **Quick life update: you've probably noticed how, despite updating more often, I'm not updating every day like I promised. I'm sorry about that. I've been searching for a new job, and that's been quite time consuming for the past few days. A lot of my applications are in now, so I'm hoping to be a little less pressed for time from here on out.**


	104. The Coming of Albion: Uncertain

**Uncertain**

Merlin had arrived in Camelot innocent and worn and confused, trusting Gaius so quickly that it was nearly arrogance. He had feared for the boy. Sorcerers could not afford to trust so easily, yet Merlin had done so without hesitation, pouring his soul into the haunting question he had asked Gaius within hours of their meeting.

 _Am I a monster?_

And Gaius had taken a sharp, deep breath, for this was one of the unacknowledged tolls of Uther's decree - making people believe they were monsters, something less than human. And for a child -

Now it was different; now Merlin retained only shreds of innocence and trusted far more reluctantly, as Gaius had both hoped and dreaded he would. Now Merlin was no longer an awestruck country boy, but a master sorcerer coming into the true, terrifying weight of his own responsibility. Now, Merlin wasn't less, but more than human.

Gaius knew Merlin (or Emrys; whichever, both were still his boy) well enough to know the question would remain essentially the same.

 _Am I a monster?_

 _(Am I human?)_

Gaius took a deep breath and prepared for a long night of calming tense uncertainties, for no matter how much else had changed, Gaius's answer was steady and unchanging.

(In a world of dramatic change, it was this, in the end, that held it all together.)


	105. The Coming of Albion: Butterfly

**Butterfly**

"What do you think of his magic?" Arthur asked at length. Guinevere fell silent for a time, finally allowing her face to show the inner conflict that tore at her now that they were safely within the privacy of their own chambers. (Usually, privacy was relative, for Merlin might come barging in - but not today.)

"I - the first time I watched Morgana work magic, I hid myself; she thought she was alone. She lit a box of ashes with her mind, and looked so - so vengeful and cold. When Merlin - when he -" it was sometimes still difficult to say _magic_ "-Merlin didn't know I was there, either. Do you know what he did?"

Arthur silently shook his head. She laughed tearfully. "It was yesterday. He made a butterfly, Arthur, the most beautiful blue butterfly you could imagine, and he looked so happy, so at peace. All I could think was that if this was Merlin, if this was his magic," and this time neither of them flinched at the word, "it couldn't possibly be evil. Not when it created such beauty. I think he's good, Arthur - I think he might be better than the rest of us. He's Merlin."

"Yes," Arthur breathed, relaxing at last. "He's Merlin."

* * *

 **Oh, how I love that butterfly. I think it says more about Merlin than any prophecy ever could.**


	106. The Coming of Albion: Destiny

**Destiny**

" _That_ is what you expect of me?" he nearly shouted. "Merlin - Merlin I can understand, with his magic and wisdom -" Merlin startled, and Arthur resolved to have a long talk with Merlin about the haphazard flashes of wisdom the two of of them had been determinedly ignoring for years - "but I am just - just - I am the son of Uther Pendragon! How can I rule a kingdom with magic fairly?" Let alone all Albion. "I know nearly nothing about it!"

"I believe you already know Magic quite well," Iseulder assured him gravely, and _oh yes_ , there was another thing he and Merlin needed to have a very long talk about in the very near future.

"That doesn't - I - who thought that I could be a legendary person? I'm just - just Arthur," he asked, exasperation touched with hopelessness.

"Trust me, I know exactly how you feel," Merlin (Emrys) muttered from the corner.

Arthur's sudden, helpless, relieved laugher melted the unsure distance that had crept between them over the past hour, and when he finally straightened, he felt rather a lot better.

 _Maybe_ \- he thought hesitantly, then with increasing determination - _maybe we can do this._


	107. The Coming of Albion: Steadied

**Steadied**

Merlin cautiously flicked a strand of magic forward, steadying the teetering column. Arthur tensed, then cleared his throat. "Right, so the treaty with Queen Elana -"

"Well," Gwaine said from behind them, breezy humor masking something far more serious, as always. "I take it I missed rather a lot."

"Um," said Merlin, risking a glance at the column, securely held in place at an impossible angle. "You could say that, yes."

Arthur half-laughed, half-coughed. "Merlin, as I am rapidly discovering, has rather a talent with understatements."

* * *

 **This one takes place about eight hours before _Heritage_ , if anyone was wondering. The day only got more eventful from here.**


	108. The Coming of Albion: Mastery

**Mastery**

"You _must_ embrace your potential, young warlock," Kilgharrh said, his silhouette still as stone.

"Embrace my . . . I thought I have been," Merlin said wearily. "I've told Arthur about my magic. Albion is rising. Destiny is being fulfilled! Why do you always demand so much more of me?"

"Because you have so much more to give, young warlock," the dragon rumbled. "You have yet to understand your true potential. Albion can be built in a matter of years, but to defend her, to protect her from danger both inside and out, will be a barely conceivable challenge. Your trials are only beginning and you need the full strength of magic behind you to protect those you hold dear."

"I am learning," Merlin said, feeling the weight of destiny settling deeper onto his tired shoulders. "Tell me - what more can I do?"

Kilgharrah's tail lashed as he crouched down, his eyes nearly level with Merlin. "You learn after the manner of men, Emrys," he said softly. Merlin shivered. He much preferred when Kilgharrah called him _young warlock_ ; when the dragon spoke his druidic name, he could not help but feel the irresistible ripple of destiny that haunted his footsteps. "You seek to master spells as a human would. That is not your path."

"I do so because I _am_ human," Merlin said through gritted teeth. He clung to Gaius' quiet words. "I am human, despite whatever else I might be."

"You are entirely human," Kilgharrah agreed. "I believe that is what makes this so difficult. You are entirely human, Merlin, but you are also entirely a creature of the Old Religion. Your magic is not an extension of your mind - it is an manifestation of your soul. The limitations you face in magic are largely self-imposed, and you cannot afford to limit yourself in the coming years."

"Self-imposed?" Merlin demanded. "I still must follow the rules of magic."

"Many of the human rules are arbitrary for you," Kilgharrah growled. "You limit yourself by insisting that it makes you less than human to use the full extent of your abilities. It does not, and you have been breaking such rules for years already."

"But-"

"How long ago was it that you stopped speaking spells that cannot function without verbal incantations for the convenience of using such spells silently?" Kilgharrah asked pointedly, and Merlin fell silent. "You must master your powers rapidly, young warlock, for the strength of Albion will soon be tested and you must stand victorious."

With that, he took flight, ghosting into the night sky. Merlin watched him go for a long moment before turning at last toward the night-soaked woods. He closed his eyes - somehow, this would be easier with his eyes closed - and tugged wordlessly at the magic of the forest. Golden light flared as he opened his eyes, tracing a luminescent path through the shadowed woods.

He took a deep breath and took his first steps onto the path that led towards home, towards Camelot, towards the future.

* * *

 _ **"These are the first steps . . ."**_

 ***coughs* Alright, I couldn't resist. The Star Wars quote just? Really fit here? Anyways.**


	109. The Coming of Albion: Wisdom

**Wisdom**

* * *

 _The beginning of the long discussion mentioned in_ Destiny _._

* * *

"It's just," Arthur started rather hopelessly, for Merlin and he had been attempting to have this conversation for the past several years and never quite managed it, "you're different, sometimes."

And perhaps now he understood why the conversation had been previously impossible, for before, he had not understood so much of what made Merlin so different, even though he had been looking for the answer almost since they met ( _there's something about you, Merlin. Can't quite put my finger on it_ ). He realized that no this was really happening; the thought sent shivers of apprehensive determination through him.

"You're - older, sometimes," he pressed on. "Old."

"Me," Merlin said, a half-smile tugging the corners of his mouth vaguely upward, "old?"

And the idea was truly ridiculous, on so many levels, but it was something that needed to be said.

"Not -" Arthur started, then stopped as the dawning clarity only Merlin could draw out of him whispered in his ear, "-not old but - but you stop being young, Merlin. I stop being older than you."

Merlin lapsed into silence, then, and (finally) stopped dodging the truth. "Yes," he said at length. Arthur shivered, aware that the barrier between Merlin and Emrys had just dropped rather completely, a strange vulnerability he was beginning to understand Merlin allowed nearly nobody to witness. "Yes, I know."

Arthur took a deep breath and then slowly, cautious at first and then with increasing comfort, the two men began to talk.

Between the rhythms of their words, Albion was born.


	110. The Coming of Albion: Trust

**Trust**

"Merlin," Thomas gasped, gulping for air. He had run straight from the castle. "It's Merlin."

The sorcerer, the warlock, the man hiding in the shadows who protected the city that hated him for longer than anyone, until recently, had really understood. The man drenched in secrets and prophecy, mystery and magic and wisdom, who stood at the king's side as deep, _magical_ change rolled throughout the kingdom.

Emrys, a few voices whispered, faint from disuse. Immortal, others murmured, a rolling surge that quietly and undeniably worked their way into the public sphere. Magic incarnate. The one chosen to lead the Once and Future King unto Albion.

Merlin.

The two were utterly incompatible, except -

-except they weren't. No. The druids whispered he was strong beyond belief, with penetrating insight and deep wells of wisdom. And Merlin was. Only, no one had ever mentioned that Emrys was awkward and humble and so very kind.

"Well," Luneta breathed into the settling silence. "I was there when the two of them met. And they took like fire to dry kindling." She laughed, a little shakily. "With burned fingers all around, but they have burned so brightly together, even from the beginning."

They all thought back to eight years ago. Prince Arthur. Trying so desperately hard to please his father and himself, and never quite succeeding. Turning frustration into confident arrogance and helplessness into haughty pride. And then Merlin had come alone and slowly but surely began to turn and return the prince to the man he truly was underneath.

No one thought for a moment to question Merlin's influence, once the truth had been laid out for all to see. It was a missing piece no one had known was absent, one that solved the mystery and revealed the blinding truth underneath.

Magic - magic, though was something different. Something dangerous and frightening, something the people had in twenty-eight years time almost convinced themselves was evil.

It was Sarah who stepped forward now, her quiet nature hardening into quiet resolve. "If Merlin is Emrys," she said quietly and clearly, "then Emrys is Merlin. And I trust Merlin."

 _That_ everyone agreed on. It had been Merlin who had brought the hurled apple, crisp and only slightly dented, to the hungry child at the end of the street after long hours in the stocks. It was Merlin who accompanied Gwen to the houses of the more desperate families in brief, snatched moments that provided a much-needed balm to both body and spirit. It so often was Merlin's quiet, rambling, reassuring words that calmed many a sick child in the slow hours after midnight as Gaius tended to their wounds and illness and pain.

It was Merlin who had anchored the faith of the people in the last invasion. _Arthur's gone, but Merlin's with him_ , people had murmured as Queen Morgana swept through Camelot in rage. It had been Merlin who helped repair and rebuild many of their homes and lives afterward. And it was Merlin, evidently, who was behind the new laws on magic.

 _I trust him_. Now that it had been said, it was irrefutable. And if Merlin had magic, then it could not be completely evil, for its greatest user had wrought works that were quite the opposite.

It would take time, as all great things do. Magic had harmed and destroyed many, but Merlin had helped and served all.

Emrys. Merlin.

The Lower Town, the citadel, the nation, had stood frozen, on edge, caught breathless with anticipation and dread. But if it was Merlin -

It was Thomas who said it first. "We'll be alright," he said, confidence and rising hope in his voice. A thoughtful moment of silence, then explosive, relieved agreement.

It would be all right.


	111. The Coming of Albion: Protectors

**Protectors**

The first time he saw Merlin, the boy was a scrawny, naive upstart with a streak of untempered idealism. The second time, he saw a scrawny, naive, _brave_ upstart with a streak of untempered . . . something. Something important, something that made him feel, rather uncomfortably, like he was less than he could be. He let the boy go, half-hoping Merlin would prod him again, half-wishing the boy would disappear and never return.

And then the idiot went and saved his life and was appointed his manservant while he distracted trying to process his near-death. Wonderful.

They cobbled together a strange sort of friendship, born and borne by countless moments of danger and sacrifice and frustration and humor, although neither of them would admit it for years. They both changed and grew, more than either realized, but sometimes, somehow, he looked at Merlin and still saw a scrawny, brave boy that needed to be protected. Arthur would be the first to admit - and the last to confess, at least out loud - that Merlin had grown less scrawny and more brave, more tempered, more . . . something ( _something important_ ), and yet Merlin was still younger than him, still someone he needed to protect.

That particular line of thinking lasted up until he watched his manservant, advisor, friend, brother, reach out to a dying phoenix, and, instead of being blasted to bits, was wreathed in golden flame and power that suited him far more than the ragtag clothes he insisted on wearing in spite of his station as not-quite-(always)-advisor. Arthur swallowed and slowly, far too slowly, glimpsed the truth. Merlin was younger yes, but braver, more powerful, more tempered, more . . . more. Just more. Merlin was more than he had ever realized, and he finally knew what the _something important_ that hid in the corner of his eye was. The thought held equal parts terror and finality.

("Finality," Merlin said with a faint snort when Arthur brought it up years later. "If only we knew what we were starting."

"It was just the beginning," Arthur agreed heavily. "But it was the end of some things, too. You weren't someone who needed protection any more, not in the same ways."

They pondered that silently for a few moments. "At least I'm still older than you," Arthur said wryly.

Merlin grinned and abruptly transformed into Dragoon; he had stopped needing the potion years ago.

" _Oh_ , you-")

* * *

 **And with that, _The Coming of Albion_ is complete!**


	112. Pressure

**Pressure**

Arthur breathed a sigh of relief as he watched Merlin stiffly clean the room. He had no idea how to handle the exhausted, lifeless Merlin of yesterday, but stiff meant angry, and angry Arthur understood. Anger was simple; given an outlet, it would rage and wear itself into something more manageable.

So he made sure his voice fairly dripped arrogance when he spoke. "Merlin, do you have any idea what cleanliness looks like? The room looks like an uncleared pig sty; while you may enjoy such squalor, it is unbefitting quarters for the Prince-Regent of Camelot."

Sure enough, Merlin whirled around, eyes blazing. For a moment, the sun caught his eyes and painted them gold, and Arthur had the fleeting, uneasy thought that if Merlin actually had magic, he would blast Arthur to bits.

"You - you arrogant - !" Merlin shouted. "You have no idea what it is like to -" He cut himself off just in time. He took a deep breath, and for a moment Arthur thought he was done, but instead, Merlin launched into a tirade so fast and furious that Arthur missed most of it. "Prat", "arrogance", "blind" and "uncaring" featured prominently. Merlin ran out of anger after a while, belatedly realizing that he had been screaming at the Regent of Camelot for some time now.

"Better now?" Arthur asked blithely. Merlin's head jerked up, and a shadow of startled gratitude crossed Merlin's face.

"Yeah," he said faintly. "Long week. I'm going to -" Merlin ducked out of the room, looking weary and subdued and faintly pleased.

Arthur rolled his eyes and turned back to the mound of paperwork in front of him, feeling rather better himself.


	113. Evenings

**Evenings**

Merlin would barge in without knocking, and Arthur would roll his eyes. He had stopped reprimanding Merlin for this months ago. It wasn't worth the effort anymore; the boy never listened.

Merlin word ramble on about something or other until Arthur interrupted the endless flow of words for - something. Anything. It didn't really matter.

Then Merlin would make a dive for insubordination and succeed, much to Arthur's irritation and growing fondness. Arthur would shoot back something - he had given up on the stocks, for if he sent Merlin to the stocks every time he was insubordinate, Merlin would more or less live there - and Merlin would counter.

This would last several minutes, until Arthur managed to land the winning shot or (more often) Merlin would say something so utterly strange, true, or baffling that Arthur would be left speechless. That was about when he threw something.

Merlin would laugh, duck, and throw a grin back over his shoulder. And if the things Arthur threw were getting softer, well, that was only because hard things dented when they clattered to the floor, while softer things were endlessly reusable.

It was a comfortable routine, one that Arthur realized he was actually beginning to enjoy.

So passed the first year of their friendship.

* * *

 **I'm sorry it's taken me so long to update. On the bright side, I have a job! On another bright side, I'm thinking I'll be able to post a drabble most days, so stay tuned.**


	114. Idiot

**Idiot**

"That -" Elyan ranted. "That man! Sometimes I see the King in him, but sometimes-" he bit off angrily.

Lancelot grabbed his arm. "Calm down." Elyan yanked his arm away and continued pacing. Lancelot turned to the others with a half-shrug and a gesture that clearly conveyed _your turn_.

Surprisingly, it was Percival that stepped up to the challenge. "Elyan," he said, gentle but with a note of steel. Elyan glowered. Percival continued, undaunted. "Prince Arthur was raised by his father. He knows how to command - not always how to express himself. He says the opposite of what he means."

Elyan's pacing ground to a halt, and Lancelot gratefully seized the silence. "Percival's right, Elyan. Our Prince is a kind and good man, but he doesn't often know how to show it. He often says such things backwards of his true intent - you need to know how to listen to what he says. Watch Merlin; he understands."

Elyan's face was rapidly changing from anger to frustrated understanding and there was peace, of sorts. Percival calmly ended the strange argument with a well-timed observation. "Prince Arthur calls Merlin an idiot more times than can be counted. That is backwards, and both know it. You would do well to watch Merlin."

And at last, the tension dissipated as the room descended into a thoughtful silence.

* * *

 **A vague sequal to** _ **Goodby**_ **e.**


	115. Resolve

**Resolve**

Arthur stood frozen in horror as Uther's knights efficiently ripped the quiet, peaceful camp to bloody shreds. The screams echoed in his mind the duration of the long ride back to Camelot.

Magic users were - perhaps evil, _perhaps_ \- but human, worthy of respect and dignity. Surely the young children, at least, were guilty of no wrong. Magic was evil, but people might not be, and he stopped before the thought of treason might occur to him - for he was the prince and princes, sons, did not betray their fathers.

"The evil creatures have been destroyed, Sire," Sir Ludwin later reported to his father with a self-satisfied air, as if the druids had been ravenous beasts instead of mothers and fathers and children (one of them, pale and dark haired, had only been a few years younger than Arthur himself. He had drowned. Arthur had thrown up).

When the rest of the knights marched out of the throne room, Arthur remained behind. "Sire," he said clearly, with a confidence that surprised even him.

Uther turned, and his eyes softened slightly. "Arthur," he said warmly. "You have done well."

The destruction at the druid camp had not been Arthur's doing. _Send them away_ , he had told them, and instead they had slaughtered the camp. These were not his knights. They were his father's. For the first time, that association was not something Arthur entirely wanted. "Sire," he repeated, yet firmer and stronger. "I request permission to begin choosing my own knights, loyal to you, yet sworn to me also. You have begun to set me at the head of patrols; I request that the knights on patrols be under my command."

Something flickered in his father's eyes, and although Arthur did not know it, it was the first time his father saw his son not as a young prince but as the forthcoming king. "You have done well," his father said at length. "You have proven yourself on this expedition. Very well. Knighting will happen under your hand, my son, for one day they will be your knights."

Arthur bowed low. "Just remember," his father said sharply, "they answer to me first."

 _Yes_ , thought the Once and Future King, _but now they answer to me as well_.


	116. Not

**Not**

Merlin was too kind to be harsh.

Merlin was lucky to avoid the daily agonizing decisions laid on authority.

Merlin was spectacularly fond of the tavern.

Merlin was someone who believed in people without reason.

Merlin was always happy.

Merlin was a terrible liar.

With twisting, sinking realization, Arthur realized that Merlin was none of these things.


	117. Apple

**Apple**

Arthur glared up at Merlin, who glanced down unrepentantly. Arthur sighed and turned to Leon. "Remind me to never let Merlin get bored again," he said irritably. He turned back to Merlin. "Do you have any intention of taking this down?"

Merlin stretched, precariously sprawled on one of the wider limbs of the tree. "You said to stay out from underfoot. This is as not-underfoot as you get." He smiled, completely ignoring Arthur's question. "Want an apple?" Merlin asked cheerfully.

Arthur gritted his teeth. "I'm going to be more specific," he told Leon. "Remind me to never let Merlin get bored while holding an old apple core or _any other_ weapon of mass chaos. "He turned back to his councilor. "Merlin!" he snapped. "As much as I appreciate you 'staying out from underfoot' -" he started, voice dripping with sarcasm - "it would be considerate of you to remove your new apple tree from _the middle of my courtyard_."

Merlin just laughed. "I think it looks quite nice, actually."


	118. Flowers

**Flowers**

"I don't _want_ a maidservant," Morgana insisted, trailing behind the man who now cared for her. A king. She wished it were her father - but her father wasn't coming back. Ever.

"Nonsense," the man declared. "You are my ward, and you will have a maid as befits your new station."

"But-"

"Do not cross me, Morgana!" he commanded, a hint of steel in his voice.

She glowered at him. "Yes, _father_ ," she spat, and wondered at the sudden softness in his eyes. Before she could question it he swept to a halt in front of her new room. Morgana took a deep breath, fully prepared to be quite upset.

She peered around the door. A young girl - her age, maybe younger, she noted distantly, not the elderly women she had expected - stood nervously in her room. When she saw Morgana, she bowed. "My lady," she said shyly, holding out a bundle of colorful flowers. "There-" her eyes flickered to the king, and she bit her lip. "There were some flowers outside and I thought you might like them in your chambers. Not that they aren't lovely chambers," she hurried to add, "but-

Despite herself, Morgana smiled. "They're lovely," she assured the girl. "I think they look marvelous . . ." She trailed off suggestively.

"Oh!" the girl said, flushing. "Guinevere, my lady, but everyone calls me Gwen."

"Well, Gwen," Morgana declared, anger forgotten, "I think we'll get along just fine."

* * *

 **To be honest, I could have titled this one "Irony" quite successfully.**


	119. Struggling

**Struggling**

"Kilgharrah," Merlin said, lost. Silence.

"What did you summon me here for, little one?" Kilgharrah asked at length, although he already had a very good idea why. He couldn't not know after Merlin summoned him not as a dragonlord but as a creature of the Old Religion - a call without dominance, and all the more irresistible for it. When Merlin called like _that_ , all of magic called with him.

"I-" Merlin started, still lost. "I-"

The immortal was so painfully young. Every one of Kilgharrah's centuries of life pulled on him at that moment, and he staggered under the weight of it. "Are you alright?" asked the young man who would, in time, carry the weight of civilizations.

"Yes," Kilgharrah rasped, curling his tail around to encircle the young warlock. "The question is, are you?"

He watched Merlin crumple, and he realized that the young man was finally advancing enough in his powers to touch the weight of his agelessness - an endless burden bestowed on one not yet accustomed to wearing its heavy mantle. "I can't do this," Merlin whispered. "Not always."

"Always," he said, with far more gentleness than he had allowed Merlin to hear before, "is not the same as forever." Merlin struggled with that; Kilgharrah drew slow, broken breath as he remembered how so many of his nestlings had struggled with the weight of their newborn heads in much the same way. Both nestlings and warlocks grew into it - eventually. On instinct more than anything else, he curled himself reassuringly around the tired young warlock, letting the child rest his weary head for a few minutes on the warm, supportive scales of his side. If he closed his eyes, he could imagine the quiet stirrings was one of his children curling into his side for the night.

They stayed there, lost in past and future, for an indefinable amount of time. When Kilgharrah at last stirred from cobwebbed vaults of could-have-been he previously thought he had abandoned in that wretched cage-cave under Camelot, Merlin was already fast asleep.

Kilgharrah shifted gently to a more comfortable position before slipping into his most restful sleep in thirty-one years, his young nestling tucked close and safe at his side.


	120. Understanding

**Understanding**

"No, you can't help, Merlin, you _don't understand_ what it's like."

He would usually be ready with a light-hearted quip that diffused the tension, and the evening would commence as normal.

Today was not a usual day. It wasn't that anything _un_ usual had happened, exactly, but today it was all too much. Too much to be guardian and punching block and Emrys and manservant, so closely together that he was quite nearly getting whiplash switching from role to role to role.

"No," he snapped. "I'm sure I don't, _Sire_ , and _neither do you_." He stalked out of the room, slamming the door shut and catching it at the last second. It shut with barely a sound.

Arthur stared, hurt, confused, and concerned, at the silent door.


	121. Grief

**Grief**

They all dealt with grief differently.

Arthur yelled; later, if the cut was deep enough, the hurt strong enough, he would lapse into self-reflection and self-blame.

Merlin was quieter, yet he mirrored his other half of the coin, heaping doubt and bitter blame on himself after the fact.

Uther turned his grief to rage, lashing out at all those he perceived had hurt him.

Arthur's grief turned to determination to be a better man, to be wise enough to prevent tragedy, while Merlin's grief turned to regret strong enough to rein in the whole of Magic.

And Uther's grief nearly destroyed them all.


	122. Mud

**Mud**

Merlin shrugged in mild exasperation at Gwen's look. "This," he said, gesturing to his mud caked clothes, "is all Arthur's fault." He smiled, brilliant and carefree. "I'm going to clean up. Tell Arthur he can take care of himself, for once."

Arthur came by a few minutes later, and Gwen burst out laughing. Merlin covered in mud was one thing, but Arthur covered in mud -

" _If_ you're done laughing," he said sourly, but a smile tugged at his lips. "Before you say anything, I'll have you know this is all Merlin's fault."

Gwen leaned against the wall a bit unsteadily, weak from laugher. "Yes," she managed breathlessly, a traitorous giggle escaping her. "Yes, I'm sure."


	123. Fool

**Fool**

 _(Time: pre-reveal)_

The young man watched with slight apprehension as she, briskly ignoring the other noble guests, strode determinedly towards him. "Merlin," she greeted, stopping directly in front of him; he bowed courteously.

"Your majesty," he said cordially. "Er, Ar - King Arthur is that way, if you wish to see him."

"No," she said, silently noting what had nearly been said, "it is you I wish to speak with."

He gave a forced smile, which she ignored. "I'm just a fool, your majesty."

"You are much more than that, aren't you?" she said gently. "It appears I misjudged you. I have been hearing quite a few stories of the arrogant fool -" she gave Merlin what might almost be a smile - "of a prince, who inexplicably began to change when a brave commoner entered his life. I heard how he began to defy his father, to deviate from Uther's footsteps. I heard how he was advised not to kill my husband, to be more merciful, and I heard how he nearly listened to his young advisor."

She studied him closely. "A young advisor who is humble enough to tolerate being taken a fool, it appears. Take care of him, Merlin. The Five Kingdoms needs the man you are making of Arthur Pendragon."

She bowed to him from the waist, nodded gravely, and rejoined the rest of the party.

* * *

 **Someone mentioned they liked how I wrote Queen Annis. Frankly, I do too. She's the wonderful sort of character that you just set loose on your writing and see what happens. I take exactly no credit for how wonderful she is; she does that quite well on her own.**


	124. Routine

**Routine**

Get out of bed. Check.

Slip on jacket. Check.

Find shoes. Trip. Ouch! Put on shoes. Check.

Creep past Gaius. Make sure not to wake him up; he worries when you leave. He rolls over -

-safe. He's still asleep. After all these years, you know when he's only pretending. He knows when you're only pretending, too. You aren't sure whether to be unsettled or grateful that Gaius can sleep when he knows full well that you are still awake. When he knows what that can entail.

Close the door quietly. The hinges creak, but only a little. You peer back around the door; Gaius hasn't moved. Check.

Creep down the corridor. Check.

Walk outside. Check. The cool night air greets you, and you immediately feel better. As much as you sometimes hate the constant danger, the silent, cool darkness and the edge of private adventure always makes you feel more awake, more alive. It's one of the quieter truths about you, a side that no one - not even Gaius - gets to see.

You halt at the gate. The guard is doubled tonight, as you well know. You heard Arthur give the orders himself. It doesn't make much difference; a clatter from their left draws their attention, and the shifting of stones sends the entire guard off to investigate. You slip through unnoticed. Arthur really should train his guards better, you muse, but that would only make things more difficult for yourself. At any rate, it is far better to slip past guards than hurt them, and while you would never do such a thing, your enemies, confronted with a difficult means of entry, have no such reservations. Perhaps it is better the guards are so incompetent. Well. _Incompetent_ is perhaps the wrong word; after twenty-five years, no one knows how to react to magic. It's hardly the guards' fault they know so little of magical distractions.

Keep to the shadows until you are well away from the gate. Check.

You straighten as you enter the forest, your steps now quick, assured. You are safe here - no one is around to see your magic, and you fear very little when your magic has free rein.

It is only when your reach the lake that you realize the actions were so well-practiced that you paid them no mind. When, you wonder, did you become so accustomed to this shadow life?


	125. Oak

**Oak**

 _Sequel to_ Round.

* * *

"Of all the stupid-" Merlin grumbled, looking despairingly at the twenty feet of wood wedged sideways into the doorframe. "Like the table of kings from the cave, Arthur said. Able to hold the whole of the council, Arthur said. Did he ever think-" he bit out around a futile push to so much as move the thing, "-of how he ever intended to get it through the doors?"

He collapsed against the unyielding table, letting the dark silence of the castle at night soak into him. "You can handle it, Merlin, Arthur said," he finished sarcastically, vaguely wondering if Arthur knew of his magic after all, for there was no conceivable way to get the twenty foot table into the throne room without some fairly serious magic.

" _Right_ ," he said, and got to work.

Ten minutes later, the highly irritated sorcerer rolled the three foot table through the doorframe, all the while muttering that equality was all well and good but he never meant twenty feet of equality, thank you very much, and where was the equality in forcing your poor overworked sorcerer to try and magic a solid oak table into the throne room of Camelot of all places, and Arthur owed him yet again for saving him with magic, yes, you're welcome, hold the applause.

"You know he had it made to please you," Gaius reminded him as he stomped back into their room. And yes, he did know, and while the thought made a warm bubble of happiness in his chest, he still wasn't done being irritated at the royal prat yet, so he only shrugged irritably in passing.

He did feel rather better a few hours later as he watched Arthur try and puzzle out how he managed to get the table into the room. At last, Arthur snapped out of it with a shake that clearly was him remembering how baffled confusion was hardly the appropriate emotion for a king to display first thing in the morning - in front of his council, no less.

"Always knew you had hidden depths," Arthur said in passing, clapping him on the shoulder as he went to take a seat at the (miraculously unscratched, which had taken a good chunk of magical improvisation) newly instated table.

Merlin ducked his head to hide his smile, far more pleased than irritated.

("But what do we call it?" Arthur asked later.

"Why not name it the Table of Kings?" Gwen suggested calmly. "That's what you've been unofficially calling it for months now."

Merlin made a face. "That's a mouthful. Call it the Round Table."

"The Round Table. The _Round_ Table," Arthur said. "Honestly, Merlin, you are a fount of creative prowess."

"You had better like it," Merlin grumbled. "Trust me, it was almost the Oblong Table for a while there.")

* * *

 **Arthur also asked for the table made because the symbolism of fairness and equality deeply appealed to him, but there wasn't a good place to work that into this drabble.**


	126. Forgiven

**Forgiven**

 _Episode tag: 1x03_

"I didn't know," she pleads; his face softens from stone to ice as he cradles his newborn son who had cost them all so very much.

"Swear you had no knowledge of this," he says, his voice soft and dangerous and fragile.

"I swear," she says rapidly, truthfully, and follows it with a sorcerer's oath, spoken in a tongue the king does not understand. It is sincere, and her grief matches the king's own. He sees this; he pauses, then bows his head and allows himself to weep.

She helps raise the young prince herself, murmuring knowledge of magic and the paths of life to the child as he dances, innocent and free in the field. He has never known his true mother, yet he has had a mother in her his whole life.

When he is nearly of age, he meets a young man with extraordinary skill and prophecies that trail behind him faster and thicker than falling snow. _Like two sides of the same coin,_ the dragons say, and almost from the moment they meet, they are inseparable friends.

She wakes from her dream - alone, so alone in the cold, dark cave - and furiously throws the crystal into the water. It lands with a splash and sinks to the bottom of the pool; she will not touch it for some time.

That is what could have been, she seethes in anger and heartbreak, had it not been for such arrogance and blindness. Anger, because of the arrogance and blindness of the king - and heartbreak, for the arrogance and blindness of herself (and even after all these years, she will not admit whether or not she knew how the lot of death had been cast before _she_ died and it all began, before it all ended).

The dream was a hazy possiblity at best; even with her skill, she could not discern all she had seen. She does not know if it is a future that might have been or an echo of a past that never manifested. It does not matter. It will never exist because of the arrogance of the king she once would have died for.

(She did not know the truth, but if the king had asked it of her, she would have told him everything she knew.)

She recalls the hazy form of Emrys, and wishes she could see, just once, what he might have looked like before Uther's actions forever closed that destiny.

(It was her fault. All of it. She should never have agreed to sacrifice an innocent; she would never realize how _many_ innocents she was condemning until far, far too late. She would only ever kill the guilty, now, and there were plenty enough of those.)

She had killed a queen; Uther had killed a people, a nation, a destiny far beyond his understanding. For that, she will destroy him.

She will use a monster, she decides - an Afanc, to match the poisonous monster he has become.


	127. Shattered

**Shattered**

 _Post 3x13_

"Guards!" Uther shouted, his voice shaking slightly. "Guards! Arrest this man on the charge of sorcery and treason!"

The two guards silently entered the King's chambers. Merlin looked up at them, calm with a tinge of quiet pity. "I suppose it's time for me to leave," he said softly. "I'll be back with another potion this evening."

"Execute him at dawn," the king commanded, his eyes overly bright.

One of the guards opened his mouth to protest, but the other guard laid a warning hand on his shoulder. "It will be done, Sire," he said, sorrow respectfully swathed in neutrality; he gently took the young manservant by the arm and led him out into the hallway. Behind them the king slumped, exhausted by his momentary burst of anger.

Outside his chambers, the small group exchanged silent, understanding looks. "I'm sorry. You're the third person he's convicted of magic today. It has not been an easy morning for him," the first guard apologized.

Merlin let out a slow breath and wondered how his life had come to the point where he took accusations of magic from the king of Camelot calmly. "I saw. I'll see if I can send Gwen around. He seems calmer with her."

Everyone shared a regretful smile as Merlin quietly left to attend Arthur.


	128. Power

**Power**

The whole situation had been a mess. Merlin didn't know quite how Cornelius Sigan's soul had got loose _again_ , but after a night spent chasing down the possessed Gwaine, Merlin forced Sigan to turn his possession from Gwaine to himself, and finally back into the jewel.

Gwaine let out a slow breath as the last of the blue light faded into the jewel. "I don't know how you did it, mate," he confessed. "All his power, all his magic - it's completely intoxicating. You feel like you can go anywhere, do anything. You're stronger than I knew, to resist that."

Merlin smiled sadly. "No," he said quietly. "I'm just used to it."

* * *

 **"But wait!" some of you might be saying. "I've read this one before!" An excellent observation. I've updated chapter one to be more in line with the sort of stuff I write now, so the old chapter one now becomes this chapter. Go check out the first chapter for today's new drabble.**


	129. Undead

**Undead**

 _Episode tag: post 4x13_

Arthur dodged, narrowly avoiding the mace. His opponent swung again, and the mace slammed into the ground, sending up a cloud of dust. Arthur turned his head away, knowing it was better to temporally take his eyes off his opponent than to get the cloud of grit and sand in his eyes. Stepping backwards, he waited for his opportunity.

There. A moment's error, but it was enough. Arthur's new sword landed the fatal blow.

The man exploded in a fiery rain of ash and light. Blinking, Arthur staggered forward. He glanced around. No one seemed to have noticed the strange occurrence. What sort of sword -

Then he was deflecting another blade, and dodging yet another. The moment was brushed away, lost in the clamor of blood and battle.


	130. Predictions

**Predictions**

In the kitchen, the bets were flying - the Prince had a new manservant, and everyone was waiting to see how long this one lasted. Guesses ranged from ten seconds (already disproven) to three weeks (miraculously approaching).

"Prince Arthur can't get rid of his right away," an older member of the serving staff said calmly, but with a fierce glitter in his eyes; he was well on track to winning quite a modest sum of money. "His father would notice, and since it's a royal favor, King Uther might be upset."

"Doesn't mean anything if the boy quits," the hall boy with money on an ousting by the end of the week countered.

"He can't quit right away," the older man said confidently, "for the same reason."

A younger maid - who had been in the Great Hall when Merlin was made the new manservant and announced as she cleaned up the spelled cobwebs that the circumstances were far too peculiar and unpredictable to risk good money on - snorted. "You weren't there when he stood up to Prince Arthur. Merlin doesn't care what the royalty thinks."

The old servant smiled. "And that, my child, is why he will stay. Mark my words."

No one had ever made it more than four months, as everyone was quick to remind him.

He only smiled.

(After all, not all seers appeared as such.)


	131. Universe

**Universe**

A spell had gone wrong, somehow.

He had to admit, however, that the result was startlingly beautiful.

In the hood of his cloak, midnight swirled in the depths of the sky. The stars were dazzling points of light sweeping down the cloak to gather in brilliant clusters at the hems of his robe. He drew the hood over his head, and was immediately immersed in boundless night.

He winced at the sound of footsteps; Arthur would never let him live this down, no matter how it looked. He quickly canceled the spell, and the endless night faded back into the fine, worn blue of his cloak.

Still, he memorized the quirk of magic that produced such an effect on his robes - when he was alone, he vowed to recast the night sky on his robe.

(In the end, no one but Geoffrey ever saw the spell. Geoffrey was quiet, Merlin thought peacefully. It was hardly like he would tell anyone.)

* * *

 **Has anyone else ever wondered how _cool_ a starry cloak could potentially look? Not the gaudy, massive-print, stereotypical wizard star cloak, but a cloak that's actually full of stars.**


	132. Windows

**Windows**

He found her hidden in the shadows of the window. She looked up at the sound of footsteps, and looked down at the sight of him.

"What is it?" he said.

"Arthur," she said, quiet but determined, "this is wrong."

He look out the window, where the smoldering remains of a person lay out on the flagstones.

"Yes, Guinevere," he said, heavy and sure, "I know."


	133. Outtakes

**It took a while for me to work out how _The Coming of Albion_ happened. Here's some of my early experiments that, for one reason or another, got rejected. As you'll see, I was playing around with a lot of different ideas; many never got to the point where they were written out, but these three drabbles did get to that point before I decided that it wasn't what I wanted (bear in mind these aren't as uniformly edited for style as most other things I post). Underneath each drabble is a few of my thoughts on it. **

**I realize this is a pretty weird update - tell me if you're interested in me posting more drabbles that ultimately got scrapped, since I have about a dozen more drabbles** **I could post as a deleted-drabbles compilation. It would assuredly be my longest "chapter" to date. Anyways! On to _The (Almost) Coming of Albion_!**

 **Innate**

In the end, it had all come down to one thing. Not his acceptance of Merlin, for that had come even while the sting of perceived betrayal laid heavy on his heart, but his acceptance of magic. (Apparently, the two had more in common than he first realized, but, well, that was a discussion for yet another day.)

The turning point was a simple detail, one he suspected everyone had overlooked.

Merlin had been born with magic.

 _Overlooked_ was perhaps inaccurate. The fact was well-known; it was unique and signaled his immense power. The underlying truth, however, had been quite ignored.

Merlin, gentle and fierce and startlingly powerful, had been born with more magic and innate goodness than Arthur had believed possible in a man. Such goodness could not possibly coexist with such apparent evil; it was simply not possible for magic to be so devastatingly evil and yet produce Merlin, who possessed magic from the very beginning.

This simple revelation had swept away the fear of magic's evils far more effectively than anything else could have.

After that, it had only been a matter of restoring justice to a law he had not understood was broken. _Only_ , he thought ironically. It was proving to be one of the most difficult things he had undertaken in his lifetime, but for the first time in his life, he could see the path ahead of him clearly. Albion, Merlin liked to call it.

He preferred to call it peace.

 **Originally part of** _ **The Coming of Albion**_ **series. The reason this drabble was deleted is because it's an earlier piece of writing, with themes and ideas that were later expanded on and better-written in other drabbles - you can see the beginnings of _Uncertain, Destiny,_ and _Wisdom_ here, if you look closely.**

* * *

 **Confrontation**

 _Arthur Pendragon_ , said a silent voice, and Arthur stirred. _Come to the forest of Angard immediately_.

Arthur normally did not follow voices in his head; then again, the past day had been anything but normal. He packed his bag himself and rode out at first light. Alone.

The journey to the forest - sitting just outside Camelot's borders - was long and uneventful. After what he had learned, he half-expected some great beast or opponent to fell him as he rode unprotected. Unprotected. Even the thought was strange, both bitter and comforting, for he had never rode unprotected before. He had always had Merlin, although he had not truly understood at the time.

He didn't know what to expect. Druids, perhaps. Morgana, probably. What he did not expect was the very large, very _alive_ dragon that loomed near the edge of the forest.

The dragon proceeded to inform him that his bond to his dragonlord (Arthur absorbed this without comment - it wasn't even close to the strangest thing he had heard in the past week) stood only so long as the dragonlord lived on. Then, in no uncertain terms, the dragon detailed how the command to leave Camelot in peace would fall the moment Merlin died, and how he would rain fire and vengeance on the city until only embers and ashes remained.

"Does Merlin know about this?" Arthur asked wearily, too dazed by recent events to care how he had gotten himself into this conversation to begin with.

The dragon narrowed his eyes, and Arthur did his best to stand his ground. "Of course not. You should know by now that the young warlock would never allow me to threaten you so blatantly."

Arthur absently wondered how Merlin had managed to handle such a creature. Never mind the magic, never mind the apparent dragonlord powers. He fervently wished he knew how his servant (traitor, friend) had managed to stand up to this creature, let alone defy his will.

"Do we understand each other, Pendragon?" the dragon asked, and Arthur managed a nod. "Good," it rumbled, and took off in a great gust of wind and fire.

He hadn't ever wanted to kill Merlin, not really - not _ever_ \- only lash out at the pain and betrayal his friend had inflicted on him. Not to death, never to death, but the law gave him an irrevocable duty, and that was to kill the sorcerer that had lived in and influenced Camelot for so long undetected. But it appeared killing him was out of the question.

He decided he didn't much care that it made him feel rather a lot better about the whole ordeal.

 **Arthur clearly reacts far better than that in this 'verse. Kilgharrah, though - Kigharrah I think would react just about like this under these circumstances. Not that Merlin actually can die, but Kilgharrah sees no particular need to enlighten Arthur about that.**

 **I really like how the tone here conveys what's going on, but as for the tone itself - "shellshocked" is probably the best word, in a grim sort of way, and that wasn't the tone I was aiming for.**

* * *

 **Feet**

". . . Merlin?" Arthur asked at last.

The circle of men parted to let their King through. Merlin was heavily bound with chains; Arthur nearly laughed, remembering what the witch had said about his friend's power. ". . . all the men and guards and everything aren't really enough to stop you if you actually put your mind to it, aren't they?"

Merlin laughed a little breathlessly. "Not really," he admitted. "But that would kind of start things off on the wrong foot."

"There's a right foot?" Arthur asked, a bit incredulously.

"Well -" a shrug - "if there is, I haven't found it yet. But escaping would definitely be the wrong foot, I think."

There was a bit of a pause. The guards shifted uncomfortably. "I feel like there should be something more dramatic happening right now," Arthur said. "Me yelling at you for practicing magic, or lying to me all these years, or _something_."

Merlin sighed, obligingly asking the question. "But?"

"But all I can think of is how you've always had two left feet." Arthur admitted. "Come on, let's get you out of those chains."

"Took you long enough," Merlin muttered, shakily pleased and relieved.

 **Definitely a favorite, definitely a deleted scene. I love how this came out; I just wanted a bit more gravity to the situation. I said Arthur took it better than the last drabble, but he didn't take what was, to him, his best friend's betrayal quite this easily. As Arthur observed, he really should have more of a reaction - but with that said, I'm surprisingly happy with a takes-it-all-in-stride Arthur.**


	134. Snapped

**Snapped**

 _PoV: Uther_

It first happens on the battlefield. You stumble for only a moment, and when you raise your head, your father's head is on the ground.

His body, ten feet away, collapses.

So do you. Later, they say you went beserk. Thy say it reverently, like the sudden snap as reality tilts sideways and you scrabble for purchase to no avail is a good thing.

Long live the king, they say.

Your dearest wish was to say these words to your father.

You never will.

You cling grimly to the unforgiving fabric that is reality, lest it try to shake you off it again. The words echo in your mind. _Never, never, never. Long live the king; never. Never ever. Long live the king._

 _Father_ , you cry, to no avail.

(He never answers; eventually, you learn to stop calling.)


	135. Technically

**Technically**

 _Episode tag: 1x04_

When Arthur left the first time, he had been surprisingly kind about it. The second time, Merlin was recovered enough for things to return to normal. "Do hurry and get better," Arthur drawled. "I miss your clumsy antics terribly."

Merlin only smiled, hanging onto _a half-decent servant is hard to come by_ \- high praise from Arthur. His smile faded at Arthur's next words.

"And Merlin, make sure to put your ceremonial robes back where they belong," Arthur finished cheerfully from the doorway.

"Prat," he told the closed door. He paused, then smiled.

* * *

"Where," Arthur said a few days later, "are your official ceremonial robes?"

Merlin wondered if he should feign innocence, but figured the smugness on his face would give him away. "Well," he said, dragging out the word.

"Spit it out," Arthur said impatiently.

"You said to put them where they belonged, so technically, milord -"

Arthur glared. "Just say it."

"Trash heap."

"Merlin!"

* * *

 **I started posting _Everyday Destiny_ to ao3, and we just hit the chapter where I offered to write drabbles for people who gave me a one word prompt. On that note, I'm reopening that up, so give me a one word prompt if you're interested and I'll write a drabble for it. This drabble prompt is from Drag0nst0rm on ao3. It might get a bit tangled tracking what prompts came from where, so I'll be saying whether a prompt comes from ao3 or this site, just for my own peace of mind.**

 **(I know in the episode that Merlin was supposed to be back to serving Arthur the next day, but I figure Gaius intervened with _my ward was fatally poisoned and needs another day of recovery at the least, Sire_ and kept Merlin under enforced bed rest; Merlin had quite the task sneaking out to get rid of the clothes.)**


	136. Storyteller

**Storyteller**

The children gathered around, huddling together in the clear, biting autumn wind to hear the traveler's stories. He had been doing it for many years, wandering from village to village, exchanging stories for food and a few night's shelter. It was dangerous to tell many of his stories here, so close to the border of Camelot, but years of surviving had worn down much of his fear into stubborn practicality. No Camelot loyalists would waste their time on such a small and insignificant village.

"Come closer, children, and I will tell you the tale of the Once and Future King," he invited, and the children's eyes widened as if the words themselves were magical. Behind them, under the pretense of watching their children, the adults, too, shifted and stilled. His words spun themselves into the families cadence of the story that, eight years ago, every child in Albion would have known (the story that every adult in Albion had almost convinced themselves they had forgotten).

"It is told that under the hand of Emrys, he will unite and restore this land to the glory of legend long past," he concluded quietly, "and under their rule, this land will see peace."

He glanced around at the children and faltered. A young, raven-haired boy watched him with deep intensity that far surpassed his years. The boy blinked and tilted his head, something heavy and knowing beneath his innocent eyes.

He shivered and finished his tale; not once did the boy's eyes ever leave his face.


	137. Warlock

**Warlock**

Later, people would ask King Arthur how powerful Merlin truly was. Later, they would ask him how much Merlin could do.

In reality, Arthur thought, the definition of Merlin's power lay in the title itself. Warlock. The power to lock a war, to turn it whichever way he pleased.

Later, people would want to know about Emrys. But that was the true answer, wasn't it?

Merlin always made sure there would be a later.


	138. Strange

**Strange**

"There's something different in your head, boy!" she barked. "Something strange and different."

Instead of flinching, the new servant simply beamed at her. "Yes, I think there is," he agreed, sliding past her and heading for the main hallway. The head cook laughed from behind her.

"Good luck with that one," the cook said in the brief lull of activity as the kitchens watched the strange, happy boy dart away. "Merlin is one of those people who is too peculiar to insult. Good heart, though. And anyone who manages to survive the prince should be commended, as you well know."

She did well know. Still . . .

"Mark my words," she said ominously. "There's something different in that one's head."

She was right, as it turned out. Not that it mattered, because even as Court Sorcerer, Merlin still only laughed at most accusations of strangeness.


	139. Refusal

**Refusal**

"That's just . . . wrong. No."

"Someone of your station -"

"-is perfectly capable of taking care of himself, much as it may surprise you. No."

" _Mer_ lin-"

"I am not about to get a manservant, Arthur, no matter what you say."

And that was the end of the matter.


	140. Dais

**Dais**

The doors opened to admit a women and her son. Arthur stood to greet them, bowing slightly. Murmurs rippled through the court. He was, after all, in every action being compared to his late father.

Uther had always sat through audiences.

The pair tentatively approached his throne (his throne; still a raw and unfamiliar thought) and stood, nervous, quiet. Arthur looked down at them. From the vantage point of the raised dais, they looked small. He thought of Guinevere. Merlin. Gaius. They would look equally small from the dais.

And so, deliberately breaking centuries of tradition, he stepped down from his dais and met his people face to face, as equals.

* * *

 **Quick life update: I've just moved across the country, which is why I haven't updated for a week and a half. I'll also be starting school soon, so we'll be back to just Friday updates within a few days.**


	141. Becoming

**Becoming**

 _Episode tag: 2x13_

Merlin stood, conflicted yet certain, and looked up into Kilgharrah's ancient eyes - looked into the eyes of the friend that had turned enemy with scorching waves of flame. From Merlin's perspective at least, it was apparent what must be done.

A second Purge, this time not of thousands of magical beings, a crescendo of death, but of a single dragon that would end the line of dragonkind forever. Not a crescendo, but the final chord of a fading melody.

And yet -

"Go! Leave! If you ever attack Camelot again, I _will_ kill you!"

 _How small you are for such a great destiny_ , Kilgharrah had once said, and for perhaps the first time, he caught a glimpse of the deep greatness hidden within such a frail, strong being as Emrys.

To forgive an enemy, to spare a life perceived to be rightly forfeit, to put what ought to be over what must be - yes, this was the man who would build Albion.

"Young warlock," he breathed, the stirrings of prophecy deep in his voice, "what you have shown is what you will be."


	142. Childhood

**Childhood**

Hunith turned from the open window and was met with the sight of a broom, several feet in the air. "Put it _down_ ," she instructed, and her young son obliged with a sigh.

"What did we talk about this morning?" she asked. Merlin scuffed his feet as he recited the well-worn mantra.

"Don't use magic when other people can see," he said obediently, glancing guiltily out the window.

"And what else?" she prompted with a small smile that covered her momentary flash of fear.

He looked up with a flicker of mischief. "You love me and my magic, but _please for heaven's sake be careful_ , Merlin!"

Hungry frowned. "I don't remember it ending quite like that," she teased.

"Well, that's how you said it last time," Merlin grumbled, and she laughed. Merlin laughed, too, and his magic flew about the small hut, golden and delighted.

She laughed some more, sweeping Merlin up into her arms. He wriggled, laughing. "Never change," she whispered to the boy the world would see as a monster.

He nodded. "Okay," he agreed easily, then lunged. "Will!" he shouted out the open window.

"Hey, Merlin," Will answered from somewhere out of sight. "Did you know there's a beehive in the old oak tree?"

Hunith quickly intervened, taking control of the situation even as she firmly pressed a free-floating chair back onto solid ground. "You two are staying here, not chasing after old nests that may or may not have bees inside." She was met with a duet of disappointed protest.

"Come in, Will," she said after a momentary glance through the room to make sure everything appeared to be more or less following the typical laws of nature. Will trudged sullenly through the door. "We have leftover soup," she coaxed. Will brightened.

"Mum's apple stew," Merlin added happily. "Don't eat all of it. I want some, too!"

Hunith closed her eyes and gave silent thanks that she had made enough last night to spare for two hungry boys. "Let's get the bowls out," she instructed, and Merlin and Will scampered off. A crash.

"I want to hold the bowls," Merlin complained from somewhere out of sight.

"I got here first," Will's voice said petulantly. A few seconds of quiet argument later, they emerged, each tightly clutching their own bowl. Hunith smiled and scraped out the last of the stew into the small bowls.

 _Isn't it hard raising Merlin on your own?_ so many asked.

"I wouldn't trade it for the world," she whispered back.


	143. Lemming

**Lemming**

"I am going alone," Merlin said firmly.

"What a strange role reversal we find ourselves in," Arthur said cheerfully. "And no, you are not."

Merlin's jaw clenched. "I am more than capable of handling this alone."

"Oh, I know," Arthur agreed, still cheerful, "and I have no doubt everyone else will come out fine. You, however, have the survival instincts of a lemming and tend to get in rather too much trouble by yourself. I am coming with you."

"The princess is right," Gwaine informed Merlin, emerging from the shadows, his horse already saddled.

Merlin threw his hands up. "Shall we invite the whole of Camelot?" he hissed. "It is best I go _alone_."

"Now you know how I felt in the Perilous Lands," Arthur said, raising an eyebrow.

Merlin sighed. "Prat."

"Lemming."

"Hey!"


	144. Translate

**Translate**

Merlin peered curiously over his mentor's shoulder. "How's it coming?"

Gaius ran a weary hand over his eyes. "Despite what the king might think, I am no expert in the ancient tongue. It was a language little used even in my day, and this is quite an obscure dialect."

"Hmm," Merlin agreed absently. Gaius glanced up at his ward.

"Merlin, I - what do you think you are doing?"

Merlin only leaned farther over the ancient manuscript. "Swîcan hyld hende ymbwlâtian st¯ælan ðêos hêodæg fremian," he murmured. "Lîefan sê cuman Logrês w¯æren gifeðe wiðtêon sîn m¯æst æðele bebêodend." He looked up at his shocked mentor. "Let the land Logres be given to the one worthy of the honor," he translated effortlessly. "Let Lord Locrinus be held in high regard throughout the land."

Gaius choked. "You - how do you know that?"

Merlin looked up at Gaius in confusion. "Because that's what it _says_ ," he said, as if stating the obvious, and perhaps, for him, it was. Gaius allowed the matter to drop.

"You had better write that down for me," he instructed, and the boy hurried off to find a empty scrap of paper. Gaius leaned back with a sigh, mentally adding Merlin's dexterity with the old tongue to the swirling mysteries that surrounded the boy. He truly needed to decipher the enigma that was his sweet, open boy; despite Merlin's frank honesty, there was far more to him than met the eye.

* * *

 **A sequel - or prequel, really - to** _ **Language**_.


	145. Similies

**Similes**

"Magic," Gwaine explained, swaying slightly, "'s like a sword. Good or bad. Still pointy. And -"

"What he means," Arthur interjected hurriedly, "is that magic, like swords, can be used to protect or to harm, depending on the wielder. Magic is not inherently evil."

Their guest nodded in cautious, uncertain agreement. Merlin threw up his hands. "A _sword_?" he demanded. "Out of everything you could have said, you pick a _sword_?"

"It makes sense," Arthur said defensively.

Merlin sighed in exasperation. "Magic is the power of the earth and rain and sun. Swords -" he said with a surprising amount of vehemence - "are pointy bits of metal."

Well. So much for that.

* * *

 **Here's a friendly poke at the "magic is like a sword" comparison. Don't take it too seriously.**


	146. Children

**Children**

"There's something about your boy," Uther whispered, his voice fragile in the heavy silence. Gaius stood still for a time. When he answered, his voice was equally quiet.

"Yes, milord."

"He knows too much, sometimes," Uther continued - it was more than he had said since Morgana had reigned. "He means more to Arthur than he should. He's different."

"Yes, milord," Gaius repeated carefully.

"You know," Uther whispered. "Why?"

The question could mean any number of things, but Gaius knew Uther better than many, perhaps all others, and he knew what Uther asked. "Because he's like my son," he said. He paused, wondering whether to continue, but Uther finished the unspoken sentence for him.

"And we do anything for our children," he said, his eyes distant and pained.

"Yes, milord," Gaius whispered.

Outside, a company of mounted knights rattled to a halt on the cobblestones. The marketplace was a quiet cacophony and children's shouts drifted up from near the inner gates. In the king's chambers, there was only silence.

"May you have better luck than I," Uther said at last, wearily turning his head away.

Gaius slipped a potion into Uther's hands. "Drink this. It will help."

Uther silently drained the potion, slumping back in his chair with a sigh. The room was again still. Gaius draped a blanket on the tired, worn king before silently leaving him to his thoughts.


	147. Incomprehensible

**Incomprehensible**

Lunet darted around the corner, gasping. Gareth, eight years old and smug, grinned. "You almost got caught."

(She had been caught, actually, but she wasn't about to tell Gareth that, for she prided herself as the best shadow jumper in the castle, and because she was an entire year older than him. Lord Merlin must have known this, for he had laughed and assured her that it was very deep magic indeed that let him see her hiding in the shadows. He had helped her up, brushed her off, and murmured a brief spell that washed over her various scrapes like healing balm.

"Promise not to tell anyone you saw me?" she had asked anxiously, and Lord Merlin had promised, laugher sparkling in his too-old eyes.)

"No one found me," Lunet told Gareth aloofly. "I'm too good for that."

"Yeah," Gareth said. They silently hopped from shadow to shadow for quite some time.

"Hey," Lunet said at length, "do you know who Lord Merlin is, really?"

"Um," Gareth said, thinking deeply. It was a difficult question; Lord Merlin was as much a part of the castle as the stones themselves, and trying to separate the two was a laborious, confusing task. "I heard he was a servant, once," Gareth offered.

Lunet tried to picture Lord Merlin as a servant. "Huh." She paused. "Do you believe it?"

They both imagined the powerful, strange lord running around with laundry. Gareth laughed, and Lunet joined him. "It is a funny question, isn't it?" she said, still laughing.

"Yes," Gareth said - sobering quickly, as he always did. "Yes, people tell strange stories. I heard people say the queen was once Morgana's maidservant."

Lunet snorted, trying to imagine the two women in the same room for more than a minute. "Whoever makes the rumors is going to have to try harder than that."

"Hm," Gareth said, standing thoughtfully in half-shadow. "I don't know if they were trying."


	148. Friends

**Friends**

"Merlin?" Arthur said swiftly, for confessions put off often became confessions unspoken.

"Mm?" Merlin asked absently from his seat near the fire. He was supposed to be cleaning, but the room was already spotless and the contemplative silence that had fallen was comfortable and easy.

"You know - you know -"

Blast it, he would have to say it all in one go, wouldn't he?

"In the tunnels - in Ealdor," - Merlin waited calmly - "I said you were my closest friend and I couldn't bear to lose you." He paused, half-laughed at how ridiculously complicated he was making this. "I meant that, you know?"

Merlin's brilliant smile told him that yes, Merlin knew it, and yes, Arthur should have told him a long time ago. "Sire," he said, and Arthur heard without turning the eye roll that accompanied the word. Merlin's voice sobered. "Me too."


	149. Daybreak

**Daybreak**

"Ever feel that it's - it's too much?" Arthur asked, quietly watching the sunrise.

His friend turned, and for a moment Arthur couldn't tell if it was Merlin (friend, supporter, confidante) or Emrys (powerful, wise, immortal) who wearily smiled back.

"All the time," the silhouette whispered, and Arthur felt that he had never been so close and so far from the truth of who, exactly, his friend was.

"I suppose," he continued, "we just try our best, and know we've done what we can."

There it was again - the quiet wisdom that reminded Arthur that when it truly mattered, there was no difference between Emrys and Merlin. Between prophecy and his closest friend. The weight of it must be nearly crushing, Arthur realized; his friend knew it as well, for most of the time he was careful to draw a line between the two.

The sun rose. The two men watched it silently, tracing the path of the sun from a sliver on the horizon to the herald of the new day. Beside Arthur, his companion let out a long, slow breath.

"Well," Merlin said lightly, "we'd better get moving."

"Yes," Arthur whispered, and the moment slipped away.

* * *

 **Heads up: this drabble is the start of another running theme in this story, which will be Merlin reconciling his identity as Merlin with his identity as Emrys. It's been covered in a few other drabbles, but there'll be more of a focus on it, now.**

 **Next chapter is 150, and it's pretty amazing we've got that far, so I'll be posting some more deleted drabbles for that, probably 4-5.**


	150. Outtakes II

**Various drabbles get cut for various reasons, but I do like the ideas behind a lot of them. Here's some drabbles that, for whatever reason, got cut, with my explanation for why I removed it underneath.**

* * *

 **Loyalty**

Percival stepped back into the room, looking curiously at his friend. Lancelot was reading a scrap of paper, his gaze lingering on the bottom of the page. Lancelot glanced up, nodding solemnly at Percival before resuming his study of the paper. After a moment's silence, Lancelot took a long breath. "Percival? Last night, you told me you would follow me anywhere as a friend."

"Of course," Percival said simply, unhesitatingly.

Lancelot paused, then locked eyes with Percival, his eyes unreadable. "How do you feel about Camelot?"

* * *

 **Nothing's wrong here but canon continuity. After I wrote this, I watched the Season 3 deleted scenes, where it said that Percival volunteered to come to Camelot and fight Cenred's army since Cenred's army had destroyed his village. I actually have headcanons about that, which might be addressed later.**

* * *

 **Fathers**

Gorlois had loved her, freely and truly. There, her court had been the wild, free woodlands, and her royal reward the kiss Gorlois lovingly placed on her forehead at the end of every day.

Uther had cared for her, but always at an arms distance. He was harsh in punishment and sparse with true praise. When she found out Uther was her true father, she wept in fury, at the birthright denied to her, at the lies since her birth.

But she also wept in sadness, for Uther Pendragon had never held her close on cold winter nights or soothed her nightmares when she was scared. Uther had given her life - but Gorlois had given her a father.

* * *

 **I like the idea here, but I just couldn't get it to come out the way I wanted it to. The words feel stilted and it sort of fell flat.**

* * *

 **Defenders**

"There are," the Captain of the Guard said, and paused. "There are certain unspoken rules when it comes to the king's manservant. The first is that no matter what he says to the king, let King Arthur do what he will. Both will often do the unexpected."

The new recruits nodded hesitantly. "The second rule," he continued, eyes turning steely, "is that you do not ask too many questions of this man. No one knows how he does half of what he does, and the answer is always because he's Merlin. Understood? We do not comment on any unusual behavior; we just wait for him to turn up alive at the end of the day."

There were a few curious murmurs, but one look at the rest of the guards quickly silenced them.

"The third rule," he finished, "is the most important. It may not make sense, but it's never wrong, and it might one day save your life. If Merlin ever has a funny feeling, _listen to him_. He is much wiser than anyone gives him credit for, and the king would be spared much grief if he understood such things."

Just as the knights had an unbreakable code of honor, so did the guards. The Knights rode to glory, but it was the guards who were tasked with defending the city. And sometimes, that meant defending the city's true defender.

* * *

 **I like the basic idea of this - that Camelot guards have at least some idea of Merlin's importance and wisdom and possibly magic - but it just doesn't work. A fair chunk of** _ **Merlin**_ **is based on a certain amount of contractual blindness, and this seems just a bit too genre-savvy.**

 **That's for this story, though. If you're interested in a different take on the same idea, I recently posted a oneshot called** _ **To Guard a Dream of Long Ago**_ **that focuses on the guards, the Purge, and how deliberately inept they are around magic.**

* * *

 **Death**

Merlin was strangely grateful to the Questing Beast for giving him the opportunity to die.

Granted, he hadn't fully appreciated it at the time - it seemed no blessing, although he would gladly die for his prince. In fact, it would be several years until he came to appreciate the twist of destiny that had allowed him, for a few brief hours, to prepare for death. Before his mother stumbled in, sick and dying, before Gaius left in secret for the Isle of the Blessed, before he killed Nimueh and saved Gaius in the same breath.

Before all that, he had been at peace, fully ready to die and embrace whatever came next. He had been scared - or, not scared, exactly, but apprehensive - but the knowledge that Arthur would live had been reassuring. After everything they had been through, he could serve Arthur, save Arthur, one last time.

It was some time later he learned he was immortal, untouchable to death, and he couldn't help but wonder if Nimueh had truly thought she had transferred the price of Arthur's life onto Merlin, not his mother, for in terms of magic, his mother or father was the nearest life to himself: the transfer of death may have been automatic, uncontrollable.

(If it was true, then Nimueh may have been devastatingly hurt, yet again, by the unintentional transfer of life and death onto the disastrously wrong person.)

The first few months of immortality - or rather, of knowing it - were painful; the first few years, less so. It was not until six years later that Merlin realized the chilling truth - he feared death in a way no one who had to confront it themselves could truly understand. The loss of life held no promise of anything to come for him. It only meant that yet another was gone, passed forever beyond his reach. He knew with crushing certainty that he would break if he had to lose Arthur to death forever, and he silently wondered if the Once and Future King prophecy existed solely to insure that Merlin, driven to grief by forever losing others, would not destroy Albion himself.

* * *

 **This is - well - I'm not sure. It's a very grim outlook on everything, and the rest of the fandom has me covered, there. I choose to take a more optimistic outlook, so this didn't happen. On top of that, I never figured out how to end it, as evidenced by the very abrupt ending.**

* * *

 **Livery**

 _There's something about you,_ Arthur had said, and he meant it. It was impossible to describe what it was; a tingle, a presence, a sense that this "Merlin" was perhaps more than he seemed.

Now, he was tasked with explaining the basic role of a prince's manservant to the boy, and that sense was back, the sense that the boy was far greater than a servant, even the prince's servant. He sighed in curious, frustrated exasperation. "You will be expected to wear -" he started, and the sense was back so strongly that he couldn't breathe.

Merlin was _not_ to be dressed in the usual servant's livery. Livery claimed someone as a servant, as a lesser, and no matter what the boy was, he was never to be a lesser.

Arthur firmly shoved the strange sixth sense to the side, but it persisted, and he found himself saying "- never mind. Just try and clean up better before you show up to work. You are representing the royal Household, and need to dress appropriately."

Merlin never did bother to change his clothes. Somehow, Arthur found himself simply accepting the fact that Merlin was Merlin, and he only ever changed when he wanted to. It was a curious arrangement. But it worked.

* * *

 **The reason this is deleted is simple - this doesn't happen in the show. Servants just wear whatever they want (example: Gwen, George, and, of course, Merlin). Not sure why I momentarily forgot that, but hey, there you go. One more deleted drabble for your viewing pleasure.**

* * *

 **Grandson**

He stood with the Druidic elders as they channeled their combined power through the crystal. Images flickered in its depths, far too quickly to account for. A moment later, they released the crystal and its surface dimmed.

They regarded him now with expressions he could not quite account for, expressions teetering between disbelief and awe. "It will be your grandson," the leader told him. "Your grandson . . . he has a destiny greater than we can now speak of. Time wanes short, and there is not nearly enough now to explain the fate of the Once and Future. Suffice to say we will help you."

"Thank you," he said in relief, for war was ripping apart the land and all but magic had failed him. "I only wish to see a land where my son can live in safety. I wish for Uther to live free of fear."

Something flickered in their leader's eyes, something dark and terrible that spoke of agony, of terrible loss. "He - Uther will be a warrior, a leader," he said quietly. "You must guide him to act in wisdom, for his choices will bear great consequence upon this land."

"I so swear to guide him to the best of my ability," he said solemnly, and the deal was struck.

* * *

 **I wonder, sometimes, what sort of man raised Uther, to be a strong leader and a mighty warrior, a politician and a King.** _ **The Kindness of Strangers**_ **decanonized this, where it was stated Finna, as a magic user, ran from Uther and his father before him. Sooo . . . probably not this.**


	151. Aria

**Aria**

 _Episode tag: 1x01_

Merlin studied the fading notes on Gaius's workbench, humming quietly. He had began the process of reading Gaius's notes while he was Gaius's assistant, and even though he was now the Prince's manservant, the potions and ancient notes still fascinated him. Throughly engrossed, he tried to decipher the old, slanted handwriting that sprawled over the page.

"Merlin!" Gaius said sharply, a note of strain in his voice, his tone indicating this wasn't the first time he had called out. Merlin glanced up, startled, to see a darkening room rapidly filling with cobwebs and Gaius sagging wearily against a nearby stool.

Merlin stood motionless, startled and unsure; a moment later, he realized what was happening. With a wince, he stopped humming and the darkness began fading from the room. Gaius rubbed his eyes, standing up a little straighter. "Sorry," Merlin said, biting his lip. "It's only that the aria Mary Collins sang was stuck in my head, and, well -"

He stood up with a sigh. "I'll just sweep out these cobwebs, then."


	152. Blue

**Blue**

Everyone else was watching the druid leaders, but Merlin had eyes only for the young child huddled in the corner. _Hello_ , he said silently, gently, and the young boy's eyes snapped to him.

 _How are you_? he continued gently, absently muffling his mental speech to everyone else in the room. His voice was - rather loud, and he was still working on not alerting every druid within a league of him when he spoke mentally. He seemed to be getting better, as evidenced by how the other druids in the room kept talking to the council without a noticeable break in conversation.

The child - too skinny and shy, and rather uncomfortably like what Merlin suspected he may have sometimes looked like as a child - reached out with a sort of sob. _There's so much red_ , the boy thought desperately, and Merlin wished he didn't know what he meant. When you grew up with magic, your worst nightmare was the sight of a red cloak coming for you. It had been better, much better, since Arthur had stopped hunting druids and repealed magic, but the stories must still be passed down, caught in hushed voices and whispered fragments by the young children.

Merlin sent wordless, soothing agreement. _I don't have a red cloak_ , he added. _It's lovely and blue. Would you like to come sit with me?_

Hesitation flickered in the boy's eyes, then he nodded and rushed to Merlin's side. The council members startled. The druids didn't. Merlin realized they must have heard the conversation; he would have to work on that. Later.

Reaching down, he scooped up the young child, who buried his face in Merlin's cloak as Merlin reassuringly wrapped his arms around the boy. The child stayed there for the rest of the council, quietly wrapping his hands in the dark blue of Merlin's cloak and rubbing the smooth fabric between his hands. It was rather peaceful, and the increased visibility of the young boy kept negotiations civil, if not relaxed. All in all, it was a successful meeting.

It was trivial in the grand scheme of things, but from then on, Merlin vowed to wear his blue cloak whenever possible.


	153. Surreal

**Surreal**

 _Episode tag: 2x13_

A night wind. Vague silhouettes beside you. All in armor, except the servant you have began to believe will follow you anywhere, even here, even now.

Whispers. _What if it-_

It does. Fire. Light. A scathing brightness against the shadows of night and all turns to heat and flame. Shouts. Screams. Silence. You stand there, blinded and untouched, facing death alone, unheeded. You lunge forward -

Dark.

You swim back to consciousness, distantly surprised there is a consciousness for you to return to. _You killed the dragon_ , Merlin tells you, and all you can do is laugh (because princes don't cry, not over brave men now dead and certainly not over dragons rearing majestically into skies, ancient legend come to breathtaking life, now gone).

Home. Congratulations. Cheers and weeping. _Good job_ , your father tells you, rare praise for a rare deed, and you can't bring yourself to tell him that you don't know what you did.

Rest. It is nearly morning, time enough to sleep a few hours before the new day. _You have done well_ , Merlin tells you, and somehow you believe him even when you didn't believe your father. Perhaps it is the trust, the faith in his eyes. Has there ever been that faith in your father's eyes? You hope so. Perhaps you didn't understand it when you saw it; your father has always been inscrutable that way.

You close your eyes. Dark. _You killed the dragon_ , you think, and let yourself slip into oblivion.

You dream of majestic heroes, rearing into the sky like legends. The dream shifts. _You'll be a great king one day_ , Merlin tells you; he is dressed strangely, formally, and stands at your side like he's never belonged anywhere else. The dream shifts again, a dream within a memory within a dream. A deep voice. _What you have shown is what you will be_. The voice blurs; the dreams fade.

You sleep, unhindered, until morning.


	154. Lifespan

**Lifespan**

"How old _are_ you?" Merlin asked. Kilgharrah laughed wearily.

"Nearly a thousand years old," he said, and something deep within him ached as Merlin stared up at him in unbridled awe.

He did not dare tell the (oh-so-very- _young_ ) warlock that he would far outlive the lifespan of mere dragons.


	155. Hierarchy

**Hierarchy**

"The first thing you should know," Sir Leon murmured to his brother, a noble of considerable land and influence, "is the hierarchy."

His brother smiled, only a touch of condescension of his voice. "I understand basic politics, Lee."

"Ah," Leon said quietly, "but things are different here."

"Yes," his brother agreed thoughtfully, "the King who married a servant and knighted commoners. I confess I have been anticipating the opportunity to meet him in person, to see what manner of man he is."

"He is the greatest man you will ever meet," Leon said fiercely, "far better than his father, or grandfather, or any king that has lived, or any King that will reign ever after."

They paused as the crowd rippled and the King approached. "There he is," Leon said quietly. "Do you see the man beside him?"

"A servant," his brother said mildly.

Leon nodded firmly. "Yes. And the most important unspoken hierarchy of Camelot is that that man's role is not to attend the King, but to stand at the King's right side. For reasons no one quite understands, he manages both better than anyone suspects."

"And," Leon said quietly, "bless him for it."

* * *

 **Sorry I disappeared for a few weeks. Life got really hectic. But, I'm back! Thank you to all of you wonderful, patient, supportive people who hang around and read this. I really, really appreciate every single review, even though I'm absolute rubbish at responding to them. Truly. You all are wonderful.**

 **To the guest who has apparently taken up the task of leaving a comment on just about every drabble . . . wow. You are incredible, my friend. There' quite a stack to go through at this point, and I have no idea if you'll ever get to this chapter, but thank you very, very much! Your reviews have been helpful and fun to read.**


	156. Remind

**Remind**

"Arthur?" Merlin said cautiously. Arthur turned.

"Yes?"

"I -" Merlin hesitated, then continued. "Lord Derius is no friend of Camelot," he said softly, wearily.

Arthur wondered at the weariness in his friend's voice. The same weariness had been present when he told Arthur about Agravaine. A weariness that implied no expectation of being believed, but a determination to try all the same.

He had been right about Agravaine. And Catrina. And Morgause. And Sophia. And Sir Valiant. And he had seemed resigned, not shocked, at Morgana's betrayal. Arthur's voice came out weary for entirely different reasons. "Why?"

"Well . . ." Merlin said, then took a deep breath and let it out again. And then began to explain. And explain. And explain.

 _Must everyone betray me?_ Arthur wondered resignedly, but no, Merlin was still here, after all, and his kingdom needed him now, betrayed and broken regardless.

Lord Derius was firmly escorted out of the castle that afternoon.

"Huh," Merlin said, still sounding vaguely startled that Arthur had listened to him, and something about that thought was wrong in ways Arthur was not quite ready to articulate. "That was easy."

Arthur bit back the retort - it hadn't been easy, it had been an entire night of hard, heartbreaking work, but compared to Agravaine, it had indeed been simple. He took a deep breath. "Remind me to listen to you more often," he said.

A shadow of a smile crossed Merlin's face. "What if you don't listen when I remind you of that?"

"Then I'm an idiot," Arthur said shortly, giving up, for the moment, on their usual habit of avoiding the serious conversations. "Remind me of that, too."


	157. Rain

**Rain**

After years of not crying, he found himself unable to try.

He wanted to. Oh, how he wanted to. Sorrow tore at his heart, and by far the gentlest way to let it all out was through tears. But after years and years of learning how to not weep for deaths, he must have lost the ability.

Normally, he might manage it. Not now. Not when everything was so frozen and numb.

He was suspended somewhere unreal, but the elements weren't, and they heard his call. Lightning crashed, thunder roared, and the grass bent slowly under the oncoming weight of wind and rain.

"Mother," Merlin whispered, slowly turning his head upward into the summer storm.

The wind tore through him, raw and cleansing, and the rain trailed down his face, weeping for him where he could not.

He stayed there, aching, for a long time.

After a time, he stood.

The rain tasted of salt.


	158. Manservants

**Manservants**

"It was this far from my head!" Gavin said, holding his hands apart. Merlin laughed.

It was a strange friendship, to be sure, but if the High King's Advisor didn't mind being friends with the King's manservant (something Gavin still didn't quite understand), then Gavin would simply enjoy the company.

"His aim has gotten better," Merlin told him, still laughing. "Years ago - oh, ages ago - he sometimes even hit me when he threw things."

Gavin blinked, and Merlin left with a cheerful wave. The High King himself found him there a few minutes later, still puzzling over the strange statement. "Gavin?"

Gavin jumped and whirled around. "Sorry, you majesty."

"It is no trouble," High King Pendragon said mildly. "What is on your mind?"

"Merlin," Gavin said honestly. "Your majesty," he tacked on after an unbearably awkward moment.

"I know what you mean," the king said with startling frankness. "He has quite a talent for being the most confusing man you will ever have the honor of meeting. What did he do this time?"

"Um," Garett said ineloquently, wondering how one told the High King of Albion that his advisor told his manservant how the prince used to throw cups at him.

"Alright," the king said, somehow reading between the lines. The king took his arm and steered them both into the king's chambers. "If you're going to keep this job, we absolutely _must_ discuss how Merlin and I met."

* * *

 **Sorry about the delay getting this up - I was traveling.**

 **Merry Christmas!**


	159. Negotiations

**Negotiations**

 _Sequel/companion to_ Blue _(chapter 152)_

The initial meeting was incredibly tense, but warily hopeful. Druids were most certainly not welcome in the citadel. Except now they were. No one knew what to make of it, and this gathering was meant to work out the exact details of the fragile new peace. Arthur knew that anyrhing could sent the entire meeting spiraling rapidly; this was, after all, the first time so many magic users had come together in Camelot's halls for well over fifty years, and the first time most of the sorcerers who didn't happen to be a death-defying force of nature like Merlin had come anywhere near the kingdom, let alone the Great Hall at the center of the citadel.

Tensions had only increased when Merlin took his seat, not at his new place by Arthur's side, but halfway between the druidic and Camelot delegations. It was a subtle reminder to all that, for all he aided and assisted Camelot, his true colors lay more with the druids than with anyone else.

Arthur saw the wisdom of the move immediately. He still hated it, hated seeing Merlin leave his side and sit by the druids. Hated knowing that it was where Merlin ultimately belonged.

He took a deep breath and stood. "We have gathered here today..." he began, and negotiations commenced.

It was impossible to hope that conversation would somehow remain civil the entire time. Still, Arthur and Merlin had dearly hoped things would not deteriorate quite as quickly as they did.

At one particularly pivotal moment, Arthur glanced over to Merlin for support - he was as much, if not far more entitled take charge of the situation as Arthur - only to find his distractible friend intently watching the corner; this longstanding distractibility used to irritate Arthur far more before he learned what Merlin was usually being distracted by, but the old fire of frustration still sparked.

Still, Merlin was Emrys here, which meant Arthur could not speak casually or irritably to him at the moment. He bit back his frustration and took charge of the flying accusations, while keeping one eye on Merlin in case he was tracking some unknown threat.

The high-strung clamor was startled into near silence as a young boy crept out of the shadows and crawled onto Merlin's lap. He must not have been more than four or five, and his eyes were wide with a sort of resigned terror that Arthur winced at, somewhat vindictively hoping that his councilors would take note of how very terrified the druids had every legitimate right to be, and soften their words accordingly. The meeting froze and hung there, rather motionless, as everyone on both sides watched Merlin murmur quiet reassurance to the little boy who huddled into his cloak.

Arthur abruptly wondered if a younger Merlin ever looked like this child - young and bright and scared and starving.

The thought was enough to make him swallow back some of his more pointed words toward everyone.

Slowly, the atmosphere eased and conversation gradually started back up. But this time, it was a little closer to true conversation, not the prickly counterfeit that had pervaded the room before now.

That would be enough for now.


	160. Purge

**Purge**

The people fled as the streets ran red with blood. Parents were slaughtered mercilessly, while their orphaned children hid, vowing pain and revenge. The innocent and guilty burned together, and all cowered in fear. The warning bell announced the executions; it had not ceased ringing for days.

The King watched it all. Cold. Indifferent. Vindicated, but not healed. A child - barely even a toddler - trailed behind him, innocent and lost, forgotten, at least for the moment, by his father.

And leagues away, in a small village on the outskirts of what would one day become Cenred's kingdom, an infant with eyes of pure sunlight took his first breath.


	161. Intervention

**Intervention**

It was so simple, in retrospect.

Merlin calmly froze time and strode forwards. He tapped the sorceress on the arm, simultaneously pulling her out of his time spell (or into it; he had never quite worked out the difference).

"Hello," he said pleasantly. The woman slammed to a stop mid-rant.

"Who-"

The Merlin of five years ago would have been mortified by the sheer arrogance he was about to display. The Merlin of six months ago would have been horrified at the sheer recklessness he was about to display. The Merlin of five minutes ago would have been dumbstruck at the sheer stupidity of his not-at-all-a-plan.

But that had been five minutes ago, before Merlin had discovered that this magic attack, remarkable only in that it was in every sense unremarkable, had finally been one attack too many.

"I'm Emrys," he told the sorcereress conversationally, ignoring the twist in his stomach as he spoke his Druidic name. "And there's some things you need to know."

* * *

Arthur blinked; one second the women had been screaming accusations and the next moment she was gone. He turned in confusion. Merlin just shrugged, unsurprisingly anxious and startlingly content.


	162. Mist

**Mist**

Arthur followed Merlin's trail until it opened into a small clearing. He could not see into the clearing; a heavy haze stood over the ground, engulfing everything in its path. Arthur could just barely see Merlin's form in the mist, and for a irrationally terrifying moment, Arthur feared Merlin was no more substantial than the haze he stood in.

After a time, Merlin walked back out. He stopped, surprised, at the edge of the mist. "What are you doing here?" he blurted, and Arthur could not answer. He was far too busy looking at how the mist seemed to shimmer in and out of reality, and how - far more importantly - Merlin seemed to be doing the same.

It was not until several hours later that Arthur worked up the courage to ask. "Oh," Merlin said in what seemed to Arthur to be far too unconcerned a tone of voice. "I had forgotten about that."

He explained how the Lake of Avalon was to be seen by no mortal not on the brink of death - "I'd be worried if you _could_ see the lake, actually" - and gently explained how the rules were a bit different for him.

"Arthur," Gaius reassured him later, faint sadness in his voice, "the mists cannot ever truly claim him. He is immortal. Such are the rules of his life."


	163. Leech

**Leech**

"And don't forget to clean the leech tank!" Gaius finished.

"Yes, Gaius," Merlin repeated dutifully as the door shut behind his mentor. Merlin sighed as he stared at the tank.

He stayed there for several moments, weighing up the advantages and disadvantages. On one hand, he could spend the next hour scrubbing the leech tank. On the other hand, he could risk his life and his destiny for something entirely inconsequential.

He sighed and waved his hand, muttering a spell under his breath. The sludge dissolved and the glass sparkled in the afternoon sunlight. Merlin shrugged and half-smiled.

It was completely worth it.


	164. Drenched

**Drenched**

Merlin lay flat on his back, a golden shield of magic his only protection against his enraged king.

Who was dripping wet.

Perhaps some explanation is in order.

The whole incident began about three minutes earlier, sometime in the dead of night. "Rise and shine!" Merlin called, using his boot to poke the king in the ribs. Arthur moaned and rolled over.

"There is no sun to be found, making your alarmingly happy declaration even less relevant than usual," he grumbled.

"Yes," Merlin said, irrepressibly cheerful, "but it's your turn for watch."

After a moment of inaction, Merlin summoned a sphere of water and tossed it onto Arthur. Arthur spluttered. " _What_ -"

But Merlin was already crawling into his own bedroll. Arthur dragged himself up and marched over to the sleepy warlock. Merlin's eyes flickered open, flared briefly, and shut. A golden shield encased him. Arthur pounded on it, increasingly irritated. "Don't you -"

Merlin let him pound at it for several seconds before rolling over with a sigh. "You _are_ more awake now," he pointed out, and Arthur glared.

"When I said 'make sure I'm properly awake this time' I did not mean -"

"You're more awake now than you have been in the past four days," Merlin pointed out sleepily, "and there's wood stacked by the fire so you can warm up." He smiled beatifically and fell asleep.

Arthur glared at the golden shield and wished his friend wasn't quite powerful enough to maintain it in his sleep. Sighing, he walked to the campfire and added several logs to the flickering campfire.

Merlin woke several hours later, dropped the shield, and was promptly met with a bucket of cold water to the face. Coughing, he rolled over to glare at the Once and Future King.

Prat.

"There," Arthur said with considerable satisfaction. "Awake?"

"Very," Merlin coughed, dragging himself to the fire, which flared and grew several times hotter in short order.

And so our heroes set off, one rather damp, the other smiling with fond smugness, to defeat the terrible monster that plagued the outer towns.

(Gwaine joined them later, draped in a bizarre purple cape, but _that_ is a story for another time.)


	165. Facets

**Facets**

It was hard, sometimes, for Gaius to watch the young man who had wandered into his chambers grow up. Sometimes, the boy would smile and all Gaius saw was his sweet, loving boy (and Balinor could claim blood right to the title of _father_ , but by now, Gaius was just as much a father as his old friend).

Other times, Merlin would turn around, tired and old, worn down with the secret burdens he was forced to carry since birth. Gaius - although he admitted to the usefulness of the disguise - hated to see his young ward appear as Dragoon, for beneath the mischief and flippancy lay a deep, deep burden of pain, somehow far more fitting in the weary eyes of an eighty year old man than in a young man not yet thirty.

Once or twice, Merlin snapped, breaking into helpless laughter at all that was asked of him. A great wizard, a King's Protector, a kingdom altering power, all in the hands of a country boy, a servant? It was ridiculous, and sometimes, in particularly absurd cases, Merlin laughed and laughed until he could barely breathe.

Merlin worked hard to keep _Emrys_ out of their everyday life, but sometimes, like a fleeting shadow, Gaius glimpsed not the face of a young boy or a tired old man, but an ageless seer, wise beyond understanding and powerful beyond belief. Merlin was always quick to correct such moments, but Gaius never failed to remember that nearby, closer to the surface than anyone believed, stood an immortal warlock, advisor to the greatest king the land would ever know.

Throughout it all, Gaius stood by, sometimes as a guide and increasingly as a support for the young man that bridged hatred and forgiveness, fear and confidence, learning and mastery. It wasn't nearly enough; it never had been enough, but it was all Gaius had to offer.

And before his eyes, Merlin transformed into the leader he was always meant to be.


	166. Sore

**Sore**

Elyan walked through the door, groaning. Gwen rushed to him. "Where does it hurt?" she asked sympathetically, gently massaging his aching shoulders.

"It would be easier to tell you where it didn't hurt," Elyan said, wincing as he sat down.

A smile tugged at her lips, but she forced herself to keep a straight face. "All right, where doesn't it hurt?"

"Nowhere," Elyan sighed, closing his eyes.

She did smile then. "I'll have dinner ready in just a few minutes. Something warm might help you relax." She squeezed his shoulder for emphasis. "You do know you'll have to get used to it, though," she reminded him. "It _is_ only the second day of training."

Elyan groaned.


	167. Balanced

**Balanced**

Arthur knew that Merlin's grasp on normality was rather more fragile than Merlin might like him to believe. This wasn't to say that Merlin wasn't normal; indeed, he privately thought that much of the pressure on his friend came about because Merlin was far more normal than anyone thought.

But. Well. Merlin's normal was not always quite what was expected. Ever since Arthur had learned of the shadow life his friend had been forced to lead, Arthur had been working very hard to notice the things he ought to see, the things unspoken yet always present. And when he began to look, he saw a depth of quiet vulnerability that rippled under the surface of every part of everyday life.

He saw how Merlin was sometimes forced to fight for normality, how he struggled to remind himself that not everyone saw the world as he did - that few heard the heartbeat of nature or were so attuned to its balance. Sometimes, often, Merlin was normal in the most human of ways. But occasionally, fleetingly, Merlin realized and began to accept that his normal had little, if anything, to do with mortality.

Arthur had learned that his friend walked on the edge of a knife, forever balanced between endless life and endless death, brightest light and deepest shadows, complex truth and simple lies. He walked in precarious balance, trying to reconcile each half to its whole. But, as both Arthur and Merlin were learning, such massive efforts took time. And as much as Merlin had learned to balance the world around him, he had not yet learned how to balance himself.

But one day, he would. He was beginning to already. And Arthur knew that when Merlin learned the proper balance of himself, the line between Merlin and Emrys would fade for good.

Six months later, his friend was called Merlin Emrys for the first time.

Two years after that, Merlin stopped protesting the title.

And five years later, with a strange twist in his stomach, King Arthur realized that the two names could no longer be pulled apart in anything but the most arbitrary sense. "Balance," he murmured.

Merlin Emrys glanced up. "What do you mean, Arthur?"

"Nothing," Arthur said quietly, though it felt more like everything.

* * *

 **My apologies for posting a day late.**


	168. Departures

**Departures**

"I'll meet you in a day," Merlin promised, grasping Gwaine's hand tightly. "I promise."

"I'll hold you to that," Gwaine said, lightly, dead serious. "You has better be there this time around."

Merlin half-smiled. "I will, barring any unforeseen unicorn stampedes."

"You get in the strangest trouble, Merlin," Gwaine muttered. "Be careful. You're sure I can't come?"

"Yes," Merlin said firmly, quickly softening it with "not this time. I'll see you at the fortress, alright? Don't worry."

"Of course not," Gwaine lied. He watched his friend away into the deep haze of the forest, and, at length, turned to leave. "Of all the-" he started, glimpsing Merlin's forgotten sack and scooping it up. "Merlin!" he called, breaking into a run. "Merlin, you forgot-"

A armored guardian materialized, holding up a hand in warning, and Gwaine was abruptly dragged to a standstill. "You do not belong here, Sir Knight," he said.

Gwaine glared. "My friend forgot his-"

"No mortal may step foot in these woods," the guardian continued, unperturbed, "and Emrys will have little need of such mortal sustenance here. Turn back, Sir Knight, and wait for Emrys to return in his own due time."

Gwaine swallowed, hard. He had thought Merlin had been hiding something from him; naively, he had hoped that Merlin would stop lying to him him once Merlin's magic was revealed.

"Immortal," Gwaine bit out under his breath. "Curse you for letting me believe those rumors were false, Merlin."

"Sir Knight-"

"Don't fret," Gwaine growled, spinning on his heel. "I'm leaving."

The bag swung loose and sharp in his grip as he marched back toward the forest. It slowed, and finally stopped, as Gwaine slowly let himself stand still and think properly.

"Curse you, Merlin," he muttered softly. "Curse you for not trusting me with that. Why do you always hide your burdens from us?"

The empty wind was his only answer.

With a sigh, Gwaine retrieved his horse and set off toward the fortress.


	169. Trust

**Trust**

Arthur couldn't figure out how his father had done it. The weight of the kingdom was simply too much to bear alone.

He did understand his father's reasoning. Uther Pendragon was diplomatic, he was strong, he was brave - but he was rarely trusting. He respected his father in many ways, but he found he could not agree with this particular practice. You could never do enough alone.

Fortunately, Arthur had little to worry about in that particular regard. Merlin breezed in, cheerfully balancing a breakfast tray while rattling off Arthur's schedule. "Gwaine got your message." he added. "I won't repeat what he said - he was cross, he didn't mean it - but he'll be there tonight. I told Lord Aldwen you want him there too, because of the land dispute, so pretend that was your brilliant idea instead of mine. I didn't stay up half the night on your speech, by the way. You can reuse the one from six months ago. I don't think anyone will notice. And Gwen's needed in the lower town, but she sends her love."

Honestly, Arthur thought, he would be at a complete loss without Merlin.

* * *

 **Arachnide pointed out that as of last week, I've been posting _Everyday Destiny_ for two years. Which I totally missed until it was pointed out. Wow. Time flies.**

 **I definitely don't say this enough, but thank you, every single one of you, for your continued presence. All you reviewers are real heroes, and I'm terribly bad at responding (response rate: about 1.78%), but I deeply thank you for every single review. I read and value all of them.**

 **Again, thank you!**


	170. Mercy

**Mercy**

The terrified, weary mass of people shifted as footsteps rattled down the stairs. A child began to cry. Others, dead-eyed, waited for the executioners to arrive.

Instead, the sixteen year old form of Prince Arthur slipped out of the shadows and into the light. He briefly scanned the crowds of people huddled in the prison cells, his shoulders sagging. "Oh, father," he breathed.

Then he straightened, the momentary pain swept away by cool command. "Listen to me," he said, as if they were subjects awaiting their liege lord instead of miserable captives awaiting death. "Most of you are going to get out of here alive. Not all of you. Some of you have been found with incontrovertible evidence of sorcerous objects, and I can do nothing." He took a deep breath. "If, by some remarkable chance, any of you do possess sorcery, please use it to _get out_ and repay me by abandoning thoughts of revenge. The rest of you -"

His eyes again scanned the crowds. "There's about two hundred of you," he said, clearly thinking out loud, "so at most, fifteen of you can afford to disappear without being noticed." Prince Arthur straightened and nodded, his words now fast and urgent. "If your arrest was too noteworthy, don't come or we'll all be discovered. But bring me fifteen people that will die if my father gets his hands on you, and I'll get you out."

People shifted, stunned and unsure. Soon, a quiet, intense clamor reigned as discussion exploded. Amid the chaos, one whisper bounced back and forth and back again, passed along too quietly for the waiting prince to hear. _Stay away from the north wall. Avoid the north wall. If you leave, keep away from the north wall._

Ten minutes later, sixteen people trailed behind the prince - the fifteenth was a thirteen year old girl whose four year old brother adamantly refused to be separated from her - and wove their way through the dark underground of Camelot's prisons. At length, they came to a dead end with the grate removed. "Go," the prince hissed. "Leave."

They did, fleeing in controlled panic for the south gate. Behind them, a massive crack of magic exploded over the north wall and all the guards rushed toward the disturbance. The small group slipped away, unnoticed.

At the top of the dungeon stairs, Prince Arthur flinched as he head the magical disturbance and the suddenly frightened murmurs from the cells. He closed his eyes and dearly hoped the sorcerer, whoever they were, remembered his words.

Then he ran, putting as much distance between himself and the dungeons as he could manage before someone sought him out, his flight measured by the slow beat of the warning bell. By the time a courtier found him, breathless and grim, he was already nearly to the north gate.

"I knew the raids would flush out a sorcerer," his father said by way of greeting. "Pay attention, Arthur. This man is powerful and cunning - you must never lower your guard."

Arthur could see the sorcerer now. He thought he recognized the man; he had been one of the men insuring that as many women and children as possible ended up in the sixteen that left. He had been offered a place in the smuggled group - many had pleaded for him to take it, _think of your wife, your children, your mother, Alden!_ \- but he had gently refused. _It isn't my place, my family is safer without me now; send another little one._

There was a brief, endless moment as the sorcerer and the young prince locked eyes - then the man bowed his head ever so slightly, murmured a few words, and vanished.

His father sent him off to Gaius in case Alden had laid a spell on him in the short but obvious moments the sorcerer took such clear interest in the prince. Arthur went, stomach twisting and writhing, fearing more for the safety of his people than the unlikely threat to his life; Alden's words had seemed, impossibly, far more a benediction than a curse. He trudged slowly up the stairs, his mind miles away with a quiet man whose eyes burned gold.

 _Please_ , he silently begged to the man who had seemed far too kind to ever wield such a corruptive power. _I showed you mercy. By all that is good, show my people the same._

There were no more magical outbursts that night.


	171. Reality

**Reality**

"How are you?" Arthur asked the silent presence at the windowsill.

Merlin turned in his familiar, foreign manner that had once made him appear a half-step out of reality. That had been back when no one had understood magic, though, which unfathomably meant that no one had understood Merlin. Now, he thought the situation might be the opposite, that true reality lay a tantalizing half-step away and only Merlin knew how to reach it.

(He quietly, irrationally wondered if this was why Merlin stumbled so often, if he was tripping over all those half-steps.)

They stood, a half-step apart, close yet far, for long seconds or minutes or years, before Merlin bridged the gap back to (back from) reality. "I'm well," he said, smiling, and while the smile had changed over the years, Arthur comforted himself with the fact that it still looked happy, even if solemnity intruded on it more often than he wished.

"Good," Arthur said aloud. "Elyan's back," he added; Merlin relaxed, the strain of worry evident only in its absense.

"Good," Merlin echoed, and Arthur headed for the courtyard. Merlin followed, a half-step ahead, a half-step behind, a half-step away.

(Arthur hoped and feared and knew that Albion lay only a half-step further on.)

* * *

 **Writing this one was an experience. Have you ever heard the song _Rainbow Connection_ and knew there was some deep meaning there that was just out of reach? That's kind of how it felt.**

 **On a completely different note, I have a massive amount of outlined Merlin fanfiction laying around, and I want to get around to writing some of it. If you're interested, tell me which of these you would most like me to write first:**

 **1) _Three Lives_. I mentioned this one like ... a year and a half ago? The prophecy of the Once and Future King is grown into over not one, but three, incarnations of the king. Aka the one where no one knows why Magic protects King Brutus so fiercely, Cornelius Sigan features heavily, and reincarnation is a messy business. Multichapter.**

 **2) _Until the Future King Be Crowned_. Arthur Livingston, Apocoli special service member in the year 2149, almost remembers who he used to be. With the world shattering around him, he is set on a baffling quest: reforge the coin of legend. I think it will be a long oneshot, but there's a small chance it will become multichapter.**

 **3) _The Magic Dragon_. The one where the last Dragonlord finds Puff, the forgotten magic dragon, and they wander the seas of time and tide together. Oneshot.**


	172. Paladin

**Paladin**

 _Paladin: a class of Warrior that is fully devoted to kindness and ridding the Universe of Evil. They are very religious, and have an extremely strict honor code, as well as a soft spot for children and animals. In combat, a Paladin with a cause is almost impossible to defeat (source - Urban Dictionary)._

* * *

She is dead.

Forever.

 _She is dead._

It is Nimueh's fault for casting the spell. It is Gaius' fault for telling you of the enchantment. It is your fault for agreeing to it. It is her fault for none of it; she is dead, now, and the only person not to blame.

 _She is dead._

The spiral of blame widens.

The dragons, for how they swayed your decision with whispers of ancient prophecies. The dragonlords, for bringing those prophecies to you. The druids - it was their prophecies. And see where it got you. A life for a life, the druids stated, accepted, as if the cost was inconsequential, as if there were no love in their hearts.

 _She is dead._

A flicker of a thought - it was Arthur's fault. If he hadn't -

 _No_. Never him. Never. Your newborn son is as innocent as his mother, and you will not allow even a whisper to the contrary.

 _She is dead._

But what could explain such horrific death? You are shatteringly aware of your burden of blame - yet the blame is not all your own, and you will not rest until all have been brought to justice. There will be nothing less than utter annihilation. An eye for an eye.

A life for a life.

 _She is dead._

Gaius, Nimueh, yourself, the dragons, the dragonlords, the druids, the -

Magic. Magic is the connecting fabric, the ultimate source, the power demanding murder for salvation, death for birth, the monster, the killer, the evil you will never again condone.

Without magic, the spell would never have murdered your wife. Gaius would never have found it, Nimueh would never have cast it, the dragons would never have known of it, the dragonlords would never have be bound by it, the druids would never have followed it, you never would have said -

\- you never would have lost her.

 _She is dead._

Yet magic does not dismiss your own words, your own guilt, your own terrible deeds. You knew it was wrong, you knew it would kill an innocent, you didn't know that it would kill her, that -

Your brain crashes to a halt.

 _You killed your wife. And then - and then -_

 _She is dead._

But others carried portions of the blame, and you are determined to make them suffer even as you - you already feel the light in you soul fading, a tangible loss - but if you stop and truly allow yourself sink into what you have done, you will never recover; already, only guilt and pain keep you from collapsing inward until nothing else remains _(just as it had been with Vivienne, but ever so much worse)._

You have a kingdom. You have a son. You have paid a high price, far too high a price, for both; you cannot lose them now, not when they need you most.

When they need you to protect them from the terror that is magic.

 _She is dead._

You straighten.


	173. Reminisce

**Reminisce**

"All right, lay down your weapons or face execution for treason against Camelot," Sir Leon said commandingly.

"Who do you think you are?" the furious thief blustered. "The King?"

Merlin and Arthur exchanged a startled glance. After a breathless moment filled with memories, Arthur gently pushed Leon aside. "No," he said, a faint smile tilting his mouth upward, " _I_ am the King."

Merlin leveled a steady look at the thief, fully aware of the thief's probable thoughts. If _this_ was King Arthur, then _that_ must be . . .

The thief was quickly and firmly escorted to the dungeons. He went along obediently, rather pale. "Well," Merlin said, coming up behind Arthur, "that was unexpected."

"I know," Arthur said ruefully. "When he said that, I was abruptly twenty and facing a gangly idiot with no sense of decorum. It was rather hard to focus on the situation at hand."

"Thank you, your majesty," Merlin grumbled, "for that flattering description."

Arthur grinned, free and huge, a rare thing that Merlin wrapped tight around his memory. He wanted to remember that smile. Ten, fifty, a hundred years from now, he wanted to remember that smile.

"Why of course," Arthur responded with a slight bow. "It is, I am assured, my humble duty to well-recall such a momentous meeting."

Merlin rolled his eyes, easily drawing himself out of his thoughts and back into the banter. "Momentous. Yep. Definitely the word I was thinking of."

"Oh, shut up, Merlin."

"Yes _Sire_."

* * *

 **Apologies for the late update. Finals were a thing that happened.**

 **On a totally different note, this drabble compared to the last drabble is one of my favorite things about this series - it's always fascinating to juxtapose the dramatically different eras this series covers, such as Uther immediately pre-Purge and King Arthur and Merlin in the Age of Albion.**


	174. Identities

**Identities**

 _A sequel to_ Masquerade _(chapter 29)._

* * *

"What's wrong?" Arthur asked, settling into the chair opposite Merlin and frowning when his friend didn't respond. "Merlin?"

Merlin sighed, drifting slowly out of memory. "Do you remember when you asked me whether I was a fool playing the wise man, or a wise man playing the fool?"

"Yes," Arthur said quietly. "I think I know the answer to your question, now."

"Yes," Merlin acknowledged, taking a slow breath in. "Arthur, I've spent a long time now being Merlin, playing Emrys, and a while being Emrys, playing Merlin."

Arthur silently waited for Merlin to continue.

"Arthur," Merlin said slowly, "I don't think I'll be playing either for much longer. I think I'll be both at the same time. And I'm not entirely sure I like that."

Heavy, contemplative silence briefly stirred.

"Yes," the Once and Future King said carefully, achingly, "yes, I know what you mean."

* * *

 **And on a lighter note, apologies for not posting last Friday. I've just started vacation, and keep losing track of what day it is.**

 **Anyways, yes, this drabble is a recurring, developing theme in this 'verse - seeing the slow, rocky, bittersweet road Merlin and Arthur take toward fully filling their roles as the immortal Emrys and the High King of Albion.**


	175. Ambassador

**Ambassador**

Elyan and Kai watched as the small escort left the gates of Camelot. "This is far too dangerous," Kai hissed, his voice laced with frustration.

"The situation is too fragile for Arthur to openly support their expedition at this time," Elyan said plainly. "He cannot appear to show support, even if their cause is just."

Kai smiled ironically. "Yes, but King Arthur is becoming as skilled at political maneuvering as King Uther ever was. Surely he could have managed to send one of you lot from the Round Table. He trusts the kingdom in your hands. I know my liege well enough to know that it is unusual for him to allow such a mission without one of you - you know this better than I."

Elyan watched the small group approach the main trading road. Just visible was the servant, the boy (or man, now; he had been a man for quite some time), the only member of the party who was also a member of Camelot.

"Give Arthur credit," Elyan said mildly. "He sent the table's most influential member."

Kai followed Elyan's line of sight until it fell upon Merlin and sighed, frustration giving way to reluctant acceptance. "Yes," he said, "yes, I suppose he did."


	176. Predictible

**Predictible**

"Merlin -" Arthur started.

"Look," Merlin hissed, "there's no _time_ for this. I'll tell you to let me handle it by myself, and you'll say not on your life, and I'll say I have much better odds of survival, and you'll say you don't care, and these arguments always end up the same and there's no time for it now, so just be careful, you idiot, and try not to die."

Arthur laughed sharply in spite of himself. "Are we really getting that predictable?"

Merlin sighed. "Yup."

And then the world exploded around them.


	177. Alright

**Alright**

"You should go," Arthur repeated. "Surely we can manage without you for a few months."

"Ha," Merlin said, a peculiar twist in his voice. "Arthur, I - I do want to go. But I would rather stay for now."

"For now," Arthur echoed, slowly understanding. "Merlin, magic is such an important part of who you are. I have no desire to keep you where you're unhappy-"

"I _am_ happy," Merlin said. "Arthur, I have millennias to learn of magic. I have no more than a decade left with all of you." A flash of a smile then, bittersweet but real, and Arthur caught a rare glimpse of Merlin without Emrys. "The northern magics can wait that long without harm. Besides," he added after a moment's thought, "can't my friends be as important a part of me as magic?"

A silence fell - not dreadful, for they had worked past that, but weary nonetheless. Guinevere's passing had brought home the reality of death to all of them.

"I'm going to be alright, you know," Merlin murmured.

"I know," Arthur responded, swallowing down the concerned and selfish _but how can you be alright when all of us have gone?_ and burying it in his heart.

Merlin heard it anyways, but he didn't have the words to explain. They would come eventually, but for now -


	178. Honesty

**Honesty**

"And Merlin?" Gwaine asked suddenly. "What do you think of him?"

Arthur let out a slow breath. "Merlin is a servant."

Gwaine opened his mouth in sharp rebuke, but Arthur pressed on before he could say anything. "And a friend. And a loyal man. And, very occasionally, he is wiser than I can understand. Merlin is Merlin. And he's the greatest man I know."

He paused. "And if you ever tell him I said that, I will personally assign you to the night shift for the next several months."

Gwaine shut his mouth, looked at Arthur with the deep well of intensity and examination that Arthur sometimes forgot he possessed, then nodded briskly and walked away, whistling casually.


	179. Woodworms

**Woodworms**

"You have got to be kidding me," Merlin muttered from deep under the desk. He pulled his head out, hair splayed all over the place, and grinned a little ruefully at Arthur. "You aren't going to believe this."

"Merlin," Arthur said patiently, "there is very little I don't believe from you at this point. You life has rather the predictable habit of being both extraordinarily unbelievable and also alarmingly true."

"Yes, but-" Merlin started, then shook his head briskly. "Ah, well. It's woodworms, Sire."

Despite himself, Arthur gaped. "You must be joking."

"Told you. You can check for yourself if you want - there's a whole nest of them under your desk."

Arthur took an involuntary step back. "They're real?" he asked incredulously. "And they've been there for how long, exactly?"

"Oh, months at least, since -" Merlin trailed off as he got a good look at Arthur's face. "Or maybe they just got there this afternoon," he added, bright and unconvincing, and shrugged at Arthur's incredulous glare. "It could happen."

"You know, I thought woodworms were just another one of your convenient excuses up until a moment ago, and I dearly wish I could go on thinking that," Arthur said, snatching up the most important papers from off his desk.

"Where are you going?" Merlin asked, laughing a little.

"Out. I'm going to do my paperwork somewhere else, and so help me Merlin, I want those woodworms _gone_ by the time I get back."

Merlin made a face. "Why Merlin, would you be so kind as to remove the big, scary worms from under my desk? Why yes of course, my liege, it would be my pleasure. Thank you so much for asking."

"Hush," Arthur growled without real menace, and beat a hasty retreat.


	180. Manuscripts

**Manuscripts**

Arthur looked over Merlin's shoulder. "Any luck?"

Merlin bit back a yawn. "Some," he confessed. "These books -" he waved a hand vaguely at a small stack of old books and manuscripts set slightly aside from the towering heaps of discarded books - "look most promising."

"And it only took four days to do it," Arthur teased, although from the look of it, Merlin had managed to go through most of the library in that time. "And-" he paused as Merlin yawned, his head jerking with exhaustion. "Merlin," he said slowly, "did you remember to sleep at all in the past four days?"

Merlin half-shrugged, half-yawned. "A bit. Mostly with my eyes open."

Arthur sighed and dragged his tired advisor to the nearest bench. From the looks of it, Merlin didn't have the energy to make it to a bed. "Then get some proper sleep - eyes closed, mind you - and I'll look through what you have sorted out."

Merlin would have protested had he not been half-asleep already. "Fine," he managed instead. "Wake me up in a few hours."

"Of course," Arthur soothed, resolving to let nothing less than fiery doom rouse Merlin for the next ten hours (which, unfortunately, was a real possibility). "Anything you say."

Merlin glared, but his eyes were already sliding shut. "Liar."

"Not necessarily," Arthur started with grim humor, but it didn't matter since Merlin was already asleep. He allowed himself a brief smile before settling down for what promised to be a very fast and stressful read.


	181. Rebuilding

**Rebuilding**

Although all of his new knights had risen extraordinarily well to the challenge of rebuilding Camelot, it had been Elyan who had proved truly invaluable in the weeks and months following Morgana's brief reign.

As a blacksmith's son, he understood how to build and rebuild strong wood and metal structures. As Gwen's sister, he commanded the respect of the lower town. As a quiet man, he knew the value of listening, and as a vagabond, he exemplified humility and a willingness to get his hands dirty. As a knight, he was vested with the authority to set in motion what needed to be set in motion.

In short, he was the most efficient of what Arthur was beginning to realize was a very small circle of people who both the commoners and aristocracy would truly listen to. Offloading the disputes and day-to-day work to Elyan was a huge weight off Arthur's shoulders, allowing the young king to focus on the more overarching tasks of stabilizing Camelot's defenses and politics.

Camelot would never have been retaken without her knights and soldiers, but it never would have been rebuilt without Elyan. Arthur vowed to never underestimate his people again, for their hidden depths were truly extraordinary.


	182. Hide

**Hide**

By the time he was two, Merlin already knew how to hide his magic, how to fold it up and shove it deep down until all the people were gone away. When he was five, he discovered how to make the meadows bloom - and how to do it slowly enough that his mother didn't go white with worry.

When he was seven, he hid from the druids as they made their way through the village. If anyone could discover magic, it was them.

("Merlin, they could help you," his mother murmured, gently extracting him from the dark corner of their house.

"They would know," Merlin whispered back around a mouthful of wrenching fear. "They would _know_. I can't -")

Knights thundered into Ealdor the fall of his twelfth year, promising rich rewards for anyone anyone with good information on a sorcerer. Supplies. Money. Food enough for a family all winter. Merlin watched Will's eyes flicker to him as bag after heavy bag thudded to the ground; Will's family, like so many others, had just experienced a painfully scarce harvest.

"I would never," Will breathed fervently as the knights rode away. "Never, do you hear? Never." Merlin nodded, unable to speak through shaking, breathtaking gratitude and, deeper, the terrible, choking _but what if-_

Merlin was nineteen when things got too far out of hand. "Merlin, I can't let you live like this anymore," his mother said, carefully controlled. "You are meant for far greater things, and you absolutely must learn to control your magic."

"No! I can handle -"

She held up her hand. Merlin glanced away. "Merlin," she said gently, achingly, "you stop time nearly every day. You must learn at least a little magic, or you'll badly hurt someone soon." Merlin swallowed, nodded, let out a breath. "I'm going to arrange for you to go to my brother Gaius," she continued, reaching for his hands. "He can help you."

"He-" Merlin said, hand twisting uneasily in her shaking grip. "Camelot?"

"Yes," she said, more frightened than he was. "We must." And that was the end of it.

He had thought he would probably die. Truthfully, years later, he still thought he might. He had nearly died so often it was getting hard to count, though somehow, miraculously, he had nearly died from charges of sorcery only twice.

Merlin was twenty seven when the world realized he was a sorcerer after all.

"Merlin, everyone knows of your magic," Arthur snapped, sharp with an undertone of hurt, as yet another secret was dragged to light. "You have no need to hide. Why do you still conceal - everything? You never let us see anything unless you deem it safe! Why, Merlin? _Why_?"

Merlin stared at Arthur, numb and tired, across the insurmountable chasm between them. "Because," he said wearily, turning away, "I was born like this."

* * *

 **Aka a brief treatise on why I find it completely rational, if tragic, that Merlin hid his magic for so long.**


	183. Fiddle

**Fiddle**

Some men, when faced with free time, wandered off in search of something to do. Others took the opportunity to sit down and rest. Yet others fiddled with whatever was on hand.

Merlin was a fiddler. Free time was a rare enough thing for the young Court Sorcerer, but ever since the last of the northern uprisings had died down, the kingdom had barreled into a startlingly peaceful era. Merlin and Arthur both discovered they were so accustomed to immediate crisis that they had mastered the art of rapid and effective management of day-to-day matters to preserve time for crises; as such, their schedules now had unexpected pockets of free time. And Merlin fiddled.

Arthur watched, entranced, as Merlin idly wove a thread of golden magic between his fingers. It shimmered and morphed into golden mist, ghosting through the air before solidifying into sparks drifting to the floor. As the sparks brushed the ground, they rippled into a breath of spring wind that stirred fluttering stacks of paper and made the room smell of rain and soil.

The golden thread reappeared in Merlin's hand, and he laced it through his fingers again, back and forth and back and forth and back and forth and sideways.

Arthur watched for hours, chin on hand, mesmerized.


	184. Friend

**Friend**

Uther had to admit that no matter how disrespectful, how incompetent, how late Arthur's manservant could be, he did have one redeeming feature.

He was Arthur's friend.

At first, Uther had seen it and hated it. How dare a servant, a commoner, a foreigner, be friends with his son?

But Merlin never took advantage of the fact, never tried to better his own position by way of his (admittedly unacknowledged, though certainly not unnoticed) friendship with the Crown Prince of Camelot. Instead, he handled everything Arthur threw at him - literally - with cheerful stubbornness, and _listened_ when Arthur needed to be not a prince but a person.

And then Merlin had thrown open the doors - against orders from royalty, but Merlin was used to that by now, wasn't he? - and saved his life when the lies (the truth) had been too much for Arthur to bear. Uther had seen something then, a whisper beneath the exhausted relief, that said such things would happen again, and Merlin would always be there to talk Arthur away from the edge.

(Like Gaius had - well. Like Gaius.)

Merlin was a mystery. But at the moment, Uther was willing to let that slide, because he was exactly who Arthur needed at his side.


End file.
